A Dangerous Masquerade
by anonythemouse
Summary: When Brittany Pierce decided to switch identities with a girl she met on the train in order to escape her stepbrother's clutches, she thought the plan was foolproof. That is, until an unexpected passenger comes aboard, threatening her plan and her heart.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, readers!**

**So, a few things before we start. And please do read this A/N, as it has some rather pertinent information in it.**

**First, this is another period piece, set in 1910, so obviously this is AU. If that's not your cup of tea, you probably shouldn't read any further. Also, I'm a _huge_ fan of the slow build-up for Brittana, so they will not really be "together" right away. This story will be rich in plot and light on smut. So...you've been forewarned lol. ;)  
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**Second, for the purpose of the plot and Brittana, while this story is AU, it is also PU (Parallel Universe) in that homosexuality is _not_ taboo, frowned upon, illegal, etc. How? Well, because in my universe, the ancient Romans never decided to try to distance themselves from the Greeks by banning homosexuality (Yes, contrary to popular belief, the Romans were the first to be anti-homosexuality. NOT the Christians. Rome started this policy circa the 2nd century BCE; Christianity didn't rise until the very late 1st century BCE/early 1st century CE), which in turn never influenced the minds of the general public, so people never thought twice about gay people. So, gay people in my story are as common and accepted as straight ones. With that having been said, nothing else about society will be different from what actually happened in real life. Men are still valued more highly than women, and while lesbian relationships are certainly accepted, people preferred there to be a man in the mix. Because...that's just what people thought back then in their backwards beliefs of women's cognitive abilities.**

**Um...Yeah, so, I think that's it for now! I can't think of anything else. Anywho, well, I hope those of you reading this enjoy this chapter!**

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><p><em>Spokane, Washington<em>

_February 22, 1910_

"Brittany! What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?"

At the sound of her stepsister-in-law's voice, Brittany Pierce jumped, cracking her head against the window frame. A clump of hard-packed snow dislodged above her, landing squarely on the back of her neck.

Brittany could feel its wet coldness sliding downward, penetrating the thin, high collar of her shirt waist. Quickly, she jerked back. Her action tumbled more fresh snow onto the perfectly polished hardwood floor of Rebecca Hudson's front parlor.

_Now I've done it,_ Brittany thought. Next to her four-year-old son, Matthew, her stepsister-in-law's house was her most prized possession. That and the sterling reputation of the family name. The Hudsons were an important family in Spokane, and Rebecca never let anyone forget it, particularly Brittany, since she wasn't actually one of them.

"Oh, for mercy's sake, Britt," Rebecca Hudson exclaimed, her tone sharp with irritation. "Snow on the floor will ruin the finish, and Emma just did this room this morning."

With an angry twitch of skirts, head held high as a queen's, Rebecca strode forward into the front parlor, heading toward the bell pull she could use to summon a servant. Even through her annoyance with herself, Britt had to admit her stepsister-in-law looked impressive.

Unlike Brittany, Rebecca was always conscious of the impression she made. It was an important part of keeping up appearances. And Brittany was sure keeping up appearances was the only thing that kept her stepsister-in-law from making her clean up the soggy mess she'd made herself.

It would never do to have a member of the family perform such a menial task, even an unimportant member, such as Britt.

"Though why you would want to open a window in the middle of a snowstorm—" Rebecca went on as she gave the cord so hard an angry yank that Brittany could swear she heard the bell at the other end ringing in the kitchen "—I'm sure I cannot possibly imagine. It's never been so cold, not for twenty years. Finn said so at breakfast just this morning. But, naturally, it's too much to hope that you were paying attention. You never listen to a word we say."

_That's not true,_ Brittany thought. _I listened plenty last night._ Even more than the ice still melting down her back, the thought of what she'd heard made her shiver.

Quickly, she turned away from Rebecca's petulant face, pulling the window closed with one swift, hard movement. Her action caused a final clump of snow to tumble to the floor at her feet. From behind her, Brittany heard Rebecca make a strangled sound of dismay.

"It's been all I could do to keep the house a decent temperature since this storm set in yesterday," she went on, her voice shrill, "even with a fire going in almost every room. Matthew could catch a chill indoors, and you know how I worry about his health.

"I might have hoped, having lost your own mother so young yourself, that you'd have some respect for a mother's feelings. But it appears that I hoped for too much, as usual. You have no respect for the feelings of others. After all your brother and I have done for you, too. You don't know the half of it, let me tell you that."

_Stepbrother,_ Brittany thought, her eyes still fixed on the storm swirling outside the window. _Finn is no true relation of mine, Rebecca, and neither are you._

But her stepsister-in-law had been right about one thing, Brittany thought, as she reluctantly turned back to face her. Brittany didn't know the _half_ of what her stepbrother and his wife had done for her. She knew all of it. She knew everything. All the things Finn and Rebecca Hudson had planned for Brittany Pierce's future. A future they'd designed to cover up their own past misdeeds.

Just thinking about it still had the power to make Brittany's throat close up in some strange combination of fury and terror. Realizing how close she'd come to never knowing the truth made her blood run colder than even the snowstorm's rage. If it hadn't been for the fact that she'd been unable to sleep late last night and had come downstairs in search of a book—

_Don't think about that right now, _she told herself, appalled to discover that her hands were shaking. Quickly, she thrust them behind her back where Rebecca couldn't see them.

The action made her feel like a remorseful schoolgirl standing meekly before an angry headmistress, an image she was sure her stepsister-in-law would appreciate. Rebecca was always happy to provide instruction to others, her two favorite recipients being her servants and Britt.

_Don't think about anything but placating Rebecca_, Brittany told herself sternly. The sooner she mended things with her stepsister-in-law, the safer she would be. Then Rebecca would go back to ignoring her the way she usually did. Being the center of Rebecca's attention was the last thing Brittany wanted, particularly today.

"I'm sorry, Rebecca," she said now, stepping away from the window, being careful to avoid the snow rapidly melting into a slushy puddle. Perhaps putting some distance between herself and the scene of her transgression would make her apology more effective.

"You're absolutely right. Opening the window was foolish and thoughtless of me. It's just—"

_Just what?_ she asked herself, sardonically. How did she think she could explain her feelings to Rebecca, even if she'd been in the habit of confiding in her? Even if confiding in her had been safe?

How on Earth could she tell her stepsister-in-law how intolerable she found it to stay inside her house now that she knew what Rebecca and Finn had done? What they still intended to do. How could she tell Rebecca that she could hardly bear to look at her? That all she wanted was to get away?

Brittany had lain awake for hours last night, trying to formulate a plan of action, desperately turning over various plans of escape. She'd wanted to run straight out of the house after she'd overheard Finn and Rebecca's conversation. But, even in her outrage and fear, she'd known she couldn't act so abruptly. She could not afford to give herself away.

It was the only reason Brittany was still in the house today. The only reason she'd endured the agonizing hours from breakfast until luncheon, from luncheon until mid-afternoon. She knew she had to choose her time for action carefully. She would have only one chance to get away.

In the hour after Finn came home in the late afternoon, while he and Rebecca were in their own rooms dressing for dinner. Not until then could Brittany act upon her plan to escape. To go earlier was to risk detection. That was what Britt had told herself in the dark, bleak hours of the early morning.

But she hadn't reckoned on how difficult things would be today.

To spend the day as always, doing nothing, pretending to know nothing. Inactivity had made Brittany's body sore, like a toothache. She'd been so desperate she'd finally resorted to working on her embroidery, a ladylike activity of which Rebecca wholeheartedly approved, but which Brittany usually hated.

It hadn't helped a bit.

Instead of soothing her nerves, the close, tiny stitches Brittany was creating only served to remind her of how close and narrow her world would become if she did not get away. But it wasn't until she'd thrust her needle into her finger hard enough to draw blood that she'd abandoned the embroidery and taken the drastic step of opening the window.

She had hoped the bitter weather would distract her from her bitter thoughts. She had never intended to leave the window open for more than a few seconds. Even she knew it was too cold a day. It was just plain bad luck that Rebecca had come back downstairs, after seeing young Matthew put down for his nap, to find Brittany with her head in the snowstorm.

_Apologize again_, Brittany told herself now. Maybe if she said she was sorry enough times, Rebecca would spare her a lecture and let her go up to her room. Brittany didn't think she had the patience to bear one of Rebecca's full-fledged harangues today. Her own nerves were too raw. She would be too likely to say something without thinking, and that would ruin everything.

"I_ am_ sorry, Rebecca," she said. "I was just so astonished to see so much snow." Brittany closed her lips abruptly over the words that rose up, threatening to spill over. _And so afraid the storm would stop me._

Rebecca Hudson's green eyes narrowed. Even from across the room, Brittany could tell the expression in them was calculating, and something else. _Good_, she thought. She had surprised her.

Though she was careful never to be impolite to her stepsister-in-law, Brittany rarely apologized for the misdeeds Rebecca laid so constantly at her door. Most of them were simply imaginary. Almost the first lesson Brittany had learned upon coming to live with her stepbrother and his wife was that no matter how she behaved, they were always going to find fault with her.

The second thing she had learned was that Finn Hudson hadn't approved of his mother Carol's marriage to Brittany's father, Thomas Pierce. There was only one reason he hadn't opposed it: upon his marriage, Thomas had promised to settle all of Carol's debts. The Hudson family needed Thomas Pierce's money.

Hudson was an old, distinguished family name in eastern Washington. Much more distinguished than Pierce. But being distinguished was no longer the same as being wealthy. Thomas Pierce could provide the money the Hudsons so desperately needed if they were going to keep up the appearances they considered so all-important.

When Thomas and Carol had died in a freak accident on their honeymoon, their sailboat overtaken by a sudden summer squall on Lake Chelan, Finn had had no choice but to take in Thomas' daughter. Brittany's own mother had died when she was a young girl. She had no other relatives.

Not offering her a home would have made the family look bad, and would have been a black mark on the spotless Hudson reputation. But although Finn and Rebecca had taken Brittany in, they had never made her welcome. Instead, they had made her feel like what they obviously thought she was: a charity case, an obligation.

From the moment she had first set foot into her stepbrother's house nearly two years ago, only one thing had kept Brittany going. The knowledge that she didn't have to stay there forever. When she turned eighteen, she would come into the inheritance her mother had left. Then, she would have enough money to be independent.

Brittany knew it was unusual for a young woman to live on her own, but as soon as she came into her money, she intended to try. She didn't want to stay in her stepbrother's house one hour more than she had to.

And now her eighteenth birthday was less than three months away.

Without warning, Brittany shivered, thinking about her approaching birthday and the trap into which her stepbrother hoped to lure her even closer.

_I'm not going to step into it, _she thought. _Not now that I know the truth._

"Oh, there you are, Emma," Rebecca said as a girl several years younger than Brittany, dressed in the dark skirt, white blouse, and white apron of a household servant, finally appeared in the parlor doorway.

She was panting ever so slightly, as if out of breath. Her pale cheeks were flushed. Tiny tendrils of auburn hair had escaped from her cap to curl damply around her face. Looking at her, Brittany felt a pang of guilt. Rebecca Hudson worked her servants hard, and Brittany hadn't intended to make things harder for any one of them, particularly Emma, who was the youngest and most innocent.

"Where have you been?" Rebecca demanded. If she noticed the girl's rapid breaths, she gave no sign. "You certainly took your time about coming. Tidy yourself up, girl. You look a mess. I've told you I won't have that."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Emma gasped out, her fingers fumbling to put her hair back into place. "It's just that I was—"

"I have no time to listen to your excuses," Rebecca broke in sharply. "Miss Brittany has opened a window and let the snow in all over the floor. I expect you to do something about it."

_How cold her voice is,_ Brittany thought. It was the same tone Rebecca had used the night before. Not because she had been speaking to her husband, but because she had been speaking about Brittany. _I'm like a servant in her eyes,_ Brittany thought. _Beneath her. Expendable._

In the doorway, Emma bobbed a quick curtsy. "Don't worry, ma'am," she said. "I will attend to it right away."

"See that you do," Rebecca said, as the servant spun on her heel and began to move away. "There's no time to waste. I shouldn't have to tell you that."

A sudden wave of nausea hit Brittany, full in the stomach. She took a few stumbling steps and sat down hard in the nearest chair, heedless of the fact that she had sat on top of her own embroidery. The striped wallpaper of the parlor wavered before her eyes.

Rebecca had said almost exactly the same thing last night, her cold voice finally warming with urgency.

"_Tell Artie he must move faster," she'd told her husband. "That girl's birthday is less than three months away. Everything about this must look proper. It can't look patched up in any way. I shouldn't have to tell you that, Finn. Artie is dallying, and there's no time to waste."_

Brittany closed her eyes, swallowing hard as bile inched with acid fingers up the back of her throat. This was the thing that made her whole world different today. Standing in the hallway outside the library, listening to her stepbrother and his wife discuss her until her heard had turned numb and her body icy.

Finn had been stealing from her, from practically the moment she had set foot in the house. Robbing her of her inheritance. Her only chance for freedom. He had planned to pay it back, or so he'd claimed. But his investments had gone sour, and now it was too late. Now, there was only one way out.

Brittany had to marry a man before her eighteenth birthday.

If she did that, everything she owned would become the property of her husband. Finn's theft would never come to light. He would be safe.

As long as Brittany had the right husband.

She felt the bile inch a little higher.

She could still hardly believe that laughing, charming Artie Abrams was a part of Finn's schemes. She still didn't know precisely why. It was likely she would never know. But Brittany figured she had all the knowledge that she needed.

The knowledge that she'd come too close to believing that she could love Artie, as he claimed to love her. Too close to doing exactly what her stepbrother wished her to do: be swept off her feet.

Because even Brittany had to admit that, in Artie Abrams, Finn Hudson had found the perfect bait. He was passive and yielding, the direct opposite of Brittany, attributes which had probably led him to become embroiled in Finn's schemes in the first place.

All Finn had had to do was to dangle Artie in front of her, and wait for Brittany's own nature to carry her away. It had almost worked. Brittany felt a chill sweep over her. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead.

_I won't think about that now, _she thought. _I can't. I've got to concentrate on getting through today._

"Gracious, Britt," she heard her stepsister-in-law exclaim suddenly. "Are you all right? You've gone white as a sheet."

Quickly, Brittany opened her eyes. She had done it again, she thought, attracted attention she didn't want. "I'm fine, thank you, Rebecca."

_Do something,_ she urged herself. _Don't give yourself away._

"Perhaps I'm the one who's catching a chill," she went on with an attempt at a rueful smile. "No doubt it would serve me right for opening the window."

Instantly, Rebecca's expression softened with concern. Once, Brittany might have hoped it meant her stepsister-in-law was coming finally to feel more warmly toward her. But not today. Today Brittany knew the truth. Rebecca's concern was all for her own schemes. She didn't care at all about Brittany.

But if Brittany fell ill enough to keep to her bed, she might not be able to see Artie Abrams for days. Such a delay could prove disastrous to what Finn and Rebecca were planning. The timeline was already growing short. Rebecca had said so last night.

"_Tell Artie that he must move faster. Her birthday is less than three months away."_

"There now," Rebecca said. "We can't have you catching a cold, young lady." She crossed the room with rapid, clicking steps to lay a hand on Brittany's forehead.

"You are a trifle warm," she admitted. "Perhaps you should go upstairs and rest. Artie is coming to dinner this evening, remember," she added, her tone growing playful. "You wouldn't want to miss him, would you? And I know you'll want to look your best."

She urged Brittany to her feet, handing her her embroidery with a jovial tinkle of laughter.

"Silly girl," she said. "Now look what you've done. You've sat on your embroidery. I'd say you were growing absent-minded, Britt, and you know what that means."

_That I have more important things to think about?_ Brittany wondered sarcastically. But she didn't even think of answering in such a way.

"I think I will go up and lie down," she said instead. "Thank you for your concern, Rebecca. And I truly am sorry about the floor."

"Oh, well," her stepsister-in-law said with a wave of her hand, her earlier anger seemingly forgotten. She tucked her arm through Brittany's as she guided her out of the parlor and across the downstairs hall. "I daresay this horrible weather has set us all on edge. And accidents do happen."

_She's afraid to stay angry with me for too long,_ Brittany realized suddenly. Rebecca and Finn were always complaining that Brittany was too unpredictable, too impetuous. She might refuse to do what they wanted, if they pushed her too far.

"You have a good long rest," Rebecca said, giving Brittany a gentle nudge toward the stairs. "Just nip this little cold right in the bud, Britt. No man ever proposed to a girl with a red nose, you know."

Again, she gave a peal, of bright, false laughter. Brittany forced herself to return the smile. _Artie Abrams is never going to propose to me, Rebecca_, she thought as she turned to climb the stairs. _I'm never going to give him the chance._

Her only regret would be that she would never get to see the looks on the faces of the three conspirators once they found she had vanished.

Brittany reached the top of the stairs. She moved along the upstairs hallway, suddenly grateful for things she had hardly thought to pay attention to before today.

Like the way the runner of the carpet down the very center of the hallway muffled her footsteps. And the fact that her bedroom was near the head of the stairs.

Until now, Brittany had always taken the placement of her room as an insult, a signal of her less-than-important status in the Hudson household. A room near the head of the stairs was much noisier than those farther down the hall.

But today the location of her room was to her advantage. It meant that she wouldn't have to tiptoe past Finn and Rebecca's door when she left the house. Their room was at the very end of the hall. The only potential danger lay in the fact that one of their windows overlooked the street.

Brittany opened her bedroom door and quickly scanned the room. Everything looked the same as always. Only she knew that her carpet bag was packed and waiting in her wardrobe, concealed by her long skirts. By the time Artie arrived for dinner, Brittany would be long gone.

She stepped into the room, closed the door behind her, and then went to kneel upon her bed, staring out at the storm.

There were huge loopholes in the plan Brittany had concocted in the middle of last night. She knew that. She had also known that she didn't have a choice. She couldn't spend another night beneath her stepbrother's roof. He was right. She was impulsive, and sooner or later her impetuous nature would drive her to reveal the fact that she knew what he had done.

But simply leaving Finn's household wasn't enough. She had to put herself completely beyond his control. That was why, at six o'clock that evening, Brittany was taking the boldest step that she could think of – she was going to the train depot. There, she would board the westbound train that would take her across the mountains to Seattle.

Whether or not she'd ultimately make her home in western Washington's busiest port city, how she would survive once she got there, Brittany didn't know yet. All she knew was that she was going.

A flurry of snow scraped against the window. Brittany shivered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Even through the windowpane, she could feel the cold. She couldn't imagine a worse night than this on which to make a journey.

But she didn't have a choice. She had to go. Nothing could be allowed to stop Brittany Pierce from making her escape. Not her stepbrother. Not his wife. Not the false suitor they had chosen for her.

Not even the worst storm anyone could remember.

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><p><strong>AN: So, there it is! Thanks for reading, and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I shall be back with Chapter 2 sometime in the near future! :D**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Holy response, Batman! **

**Seriously, I think I almost got more story alerts for chapter 1 than I have for nearly all of _Impossible to Ignore_. ****Totally blew my mind. I'm just glad people are liking it. Hopefully it will stay that way lol. :)**

**Anywho, I have some people to thank who left reviews, but I couldn't thank in a PM!**

_**UraniumLullaby**_**: I'm really happy you're liking it so far! Hehe, yay! I'm glad you're looking forward to lots of plot; it_'s _kind of my specialty lol. ;)**

**_Last White Feather:_ Aw, thank you so much! *blushes and looks away bashfully* Oh, and yes, I did totally blush at your review. It made my day. :) Also, I was going to try to give you a hint as to your question, but then I realized that if I told you anything, it will give _everything_ (and I do mean pretty much everything that I have planned for the story; I didn't realize how loaded that question was haha) away, and I just didn't want to spoil the mystery for you. So...my answer is, "You're just going to have to wait to find out?" :)**

**Anyway, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. You know...things and school and life and work got in the way.**

**On an unrelated note, you know what I hate? Taxes. And that's all I'm going to say about that.**

**Also, I recently found a story entitled _The Bodyguard_, in which Santana is the bodyguard (the one where Brittany is the bodyguard is also fabulous - as if you haven't already read it, right?), and it is really amazing. It's so...deep and emotional. So...you might want to read it when you get a chance, if you haven't already. It's very well written. **

**Okay, that's enough babbling from me. I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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><p>"Britt?"<p>

In the middle of her bedroom, Brittany stopped short, one foot poised in mid-air, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. Surely that was Finn's voice! He never came to her room, not for any reason. He wouldn't have considered it proper.

But in spite of that fact, he had come today.

Frantically, Brittany looked around her. If Finn caught her looking like this, her attempt at escape would be over before it even started. She'd been all but ready to go. Just seconds before the knock on her door, she had slipped her heaviest winter coat on.

The coat had been the only thing that had gotten her through the rest of the afternoon. Brittany had spent her time sewing what little inheritance she had left, the jewelry that had once belonged to her mother, into the coat's lining.

The only piece she'd left out was a cameo ring, her father's wedding present to her mother. This she had slipped onto the ring finger of her right hand, hoping that the token of her parents' love for one another might bring her luck.

But the whole time, Brittany had kept one ear cocked, listening for the slam of the front door. It was the way Finn always announced his return to the house.

Rebecca hated that Finn slammed the front door when he came in. She considered such an action vulgar and common. But for once, Finn disagreed with his wife's notion of proper behavior. As far as he was concerned, everyone should know when the master of the house came home, and nothing accomplished that faster, Finn said, than a good hard slam.

Today's bang had come even earlier than usual, a fact which had at first caused Brittany considerable alarm. Had she given herself away somehow? Had Rebecca sent word to Finn saying that Brittany was acting strangely, begging Finn to return home at once?

She'd bundled the coat into the wardrobe and waited tensely, knowing that she could be summoned at any moment. But nothing had happened. No such summons had come.

Even so, Brittany hadn't relaxed until she had heard her stepbrother and his wife actually come upstairs and move past her room along the hall, talking in low voices. They were on their way to their own room, to dress for dinner. At long last, the moment Brittany had spent all afternoon waiting for had come.

She had given Finn and Rebecca fifteen minutes, the most nerve-wracking fifteen minutes of her life. She had checked the watch pinned to the front of her shirt waist so often, time hadn't seemed to move at all.

But, finally, the margin of safety Brittany had allowed herself to be certain her stepbrother and his wife really were in their room was over. She had pulled on her coat and headed for her bedroom door. Her intention had been to open it silently and peek out, to verify that the coast was indeed clear. After that, she would pin on her hat, retrieve her packed carpet bag, and be on her way.

But no sooner had she started across the room than she had heard the knock on her door.

"Britt," her stepbrother's voice said once again. "May I come in? It's Finn."

_I know it's you, Finn_, Brittany thought. She felt a desperate bubble of laughter rise up inside her chest, even through her fear. If Finn wished to come into her room, something very serious must be happening.

Brittany's heart was pounding so hard she could see the front of her coat quiver, but it was the only part of her that seemed able to move. The rest of her was frozen in place in the center of her room.

_Do something,_ her mind commanded. _Take off your coat. Don't let him catch you!_

If Finn discovered her standing in the middle of her room wearing her heaviest coat, Brittany had absolutely no doubt about what he would do. He's see her married to Artie Abrams as soon as possible, even if people talked.

"Britt! What's the matter? Why don't you answer me?"

In horror, Brittany saw the doorknob move. She made a frantic lunge straight toward the door. She snatched her hat from the top of her dressing table, and then spun around and dashed for her bed, frantically ripping off her coat as she did so.

She dove beneath the covers, pushing the coat down to her waist, smashing it down against her hat. Then she pulled her quilt all the way up to her chin, thankful that it was long enough she didn't have to worry about her shoes poking out the bottom.

"Is somebody there?" she called out, doing her best to sound as though he had just startled her out of a deep sleep. "Did somebody call?"

The door shot inward, as if pushed open with impatient hands. A moment later, her stepbrother appeared in the doorway.

Finn Hudson was a tall, imposing man, but Brittany found her stepbrother had never looked as daunting as he did at this moment. He completely filled her bedroom doorway. His dark eyebrows were pulled together in a frown. His normally pale face was flushed with annoyance.

Brittany began to shiver so hard she had to clench her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

_Don't let him see how intimidated you are,_ she told herself firmly. _Don't let him see that anything is out of the ordinary. You caught a chill. You went upstairs to rest. You did just what Rebecca told you to do and no more._

But still, it took all the courage she possessed for her to face her stepbrother. His brown eyes were snapping with irritation.

"What took you so long to answer?" he demanded, as he came into the room. "Why are you still in bed? You aren't ill, are you?"

In spite of her stepbrother's frustration, Brittany began to breathe a little easier. Finn had left the door ajar behind him.

It wouldn't have been proper for the two of them to be in Brittany's bedroom alone with the door closed. But it was a nicety Brittany was sure Finn would have overlooked if he had been facing a true crisis. If he had believed that she was planning to defy him.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, not bothering to conceal the way her voice trembled. "I didn't hear you. I was asleep, Finn. Rebecca told me I should rest."

At the mention of his wife's name, the angry color faded from Finn Hudson's face, though it was still plain he wasn't happy about the fact that Brittany was still in bed. Equally obvious, however, was the fact that, like his wife, Finn was afraid of pushing Brittany too far.

Brittany pulled in a deep, calming breath. Her stepbrother hadn't discovered what she had planned. He was merely concerned because she might not be able to see Artie Abrams that evening, just as Rebecca had been.

"Rebecca did say that you might not be feeling well," Finn admitted. He crossed the room with quick strides to stand beside Brittany's bed. "She also said that if you fell ill, you would have no one but yourself to blame."

Once more, Brittany found herself battling back desperate laughter. It seemed neither Finn nor Rebecca could refrain from criticizing her, in spite of their fear of alienating her.

"What on earth possessed you to open a window in this weather, I'd like to know," Finn continued.

_Oh, no you wouldn't, Finn, _Brittany thought, still struggling to hold in laughter. "I said I was sorry," she protested, clutching the covers to her chin. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of her mother's ring. Brittany eased her right hand down beneath the quilt.

"Well," Finn Hudson murmured, dismissing Brittany's apology with a single syllable.

Without warning, he leaned over to capture her left hand where it still clutched the top of the quilt. He pulled her arm out from under the covers and pressed two fingers against her wrist. Brittany's heart was beating so fast it all but choked her. As he felt her pulse's frantic scramble, Finn's frown reappeared.

"Hmm," he said through pursed lips. He released Brittany's wrist to press on palm to her forehead. It was all Brittany could do not to flinch. But suddenly, she realized how incredibly warm she was under the winder bed quilt made of wool, with her heaviest coat concealed beneath it. Surely, that would work to her advantage.

"Well, your pulse is fast," Finn admitted, "and you do feel a little warm." He spun away and took a quick turn about the room, his jerky steps betraying his inner agitation. "You do remember that Artie is expected for dinner this evening," he finally rapped out.

"Of course I remember," Brittany said, as she felt her heart beats begin to slow. _Why did it take me so long to see him as he truly is?_ she wondered. Callous. Shallow. Self-obsessed. Neither Finn nor Rebecca had expressed any genuine concern for Brittany's health. She could contract a serious illness, for all they cared. But not before she was safely married to Artie Abrams.

"I'm sure if I just splashed a little cold water on my face—"

"That's a good idea," Finn seconded at once, swinging around to face her. "In fact, now that I think of it, it might be to our advantage if, for once, you didn't look your best. It wouldn't hurt for you to appear a little frail for a change you know, Britt. I've always said you were far too robust. Men don't care for a woman who is too strong. It's important for a woman to make a man feel needed."

In spite of the warmth the covers provided, Brittany shivered. Did Artie feel the same way her stepbrother did? Was what Artie wanted not a person, but an ornament? It didn't matter what Artie Abrams wanted anymore. What mattered was what Brittany wanted now.

_How close I came, _she thought. _How close to disaster._ The same distance Finn was now. But Brittany wasn't about to let herself be sacrificed to her stepbrother's designs. Instead, she would use the impetuosity he so longed to drive out of her to her own advantage.

"If I might have a moment," she said, making a move as if to throw back the quilt, "I'll try to get dressed now, Finn."

"Of course," Finn Hudson said at once. He moved swiftly to the doorway. "I'll just have Rebecca ring for Emma."

"Oh, but—" Brittany began, and then caught herself at the last moment. Having to contend with Emma would make her plan for escape even more problematic than it already was, but she'd give away everything if she protested.

The fact that Finn was willing to have Emma help her dress would usually have been a point in Brittany's favor. Often, Brittany had no one at all. If the occasion was particularly important, Rebecca might send her own maid, Terri, to help her, a circumstance appreciated by neither.

The older woman had a cold, calculating personality; a fact which Brittany believed made her the perfect lady's maid for Rebecca.

"Thank you, Finn," she said. "I'll do my best to be on time."

"Oh, that's all right," Finn said as he lingered in the doorway, obviously warming to the idea of Brittany's enforced fragility. "I'm sure Artie will understand if you're a little late. It never hurts to make an entrance, you know. Well then, I'll see you at dinner. Don't overdo things now."

With this final piece of advice, he stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed behind him. Brittany continued to lie in bed, counting off the moments until she could be reasonably certain Finn was at the end of the hall in his own suite of rooms once more.

_One, one thousand. Two, one thousand…_

Abruptly, Brittany realized that she was gripping the quilt so hard her hands ached, biting her lower lip so hard the taste of blood filled her mouth like bitter copper. She threw back the quilt and swung her feet out of bed. She had her coat back on, one hand holding the hat to the top of her head by the time she reached the wardrobe.

Brittany knew she should take a moment to thrust her hatpin through the crown of the hat and into the coil of her own long hair, but she was afraid to take the time to do so, now that absolutely every second counted.

Grasping her heavy carpet bag firmly in one hand, Brittany moved silently to her bedroom door and eased it open. The upstairs hall was empty, silent. Now all she had to do was to make it down the stairs and out the front door before Emma started up the stairs to help her.

The truth was, Brittany had hoped for more time, time enough to get safely to the train station before anyone missed her. The fact that Finn had summoned a servant to help her dress meant that Brittany's absence would be noticed almost at once. It seemed time was a luxury she'd just have to be prepare to do without.

_And I'll have even less of it, _she thought, _the longer I stand here hesitating_. She had to go, go _now_, and hope that even the small advantage of surprise she might still have would be enough.

Closing her bedroom door silently behind her, Brittany tiptoed down the hall, her long skirts whispering as she moved rapidly down the staircase. She had actually reached the bottom and was reaching for the front door when she was pulled up short.

"Why, Miss Brittany!"

Instantly, Brittany whirled around, pressing a desperate finger to her lips. "You didn't see me," she whispered. "Please, Emma."

Emma's already large hazel eyes grew as round as teacups as she took in Brittany's appearance. It was plain she wasn't dressed for dinner. Emma's fingers plucked nervously at the front of her apron; her mouth puckered, as if she was trying not to cry.

_How young she is,_ Brittany thought. Emma couldn't be more than fourteen, but she'd been hard at work since before sunup. Her day wouldn't stop until the family had all retired for the night. _My life may become just like hers once I leave here_, Brittany thought.

"But what are you doing? Where are you going, Miss Brittany?" Emma stammered out. "If the master should find out I saw you and then said nothing—"

"It's all right," Brittany said at once, moving away from the front door to lay a hand on Emma's arm. The girl was so frightened she was shivering.

"You don't have to worry about my stepbrother," Brittany said reassuringly. She set down her carpet bag to grasp Emma by both shoulders. "He won't find out. We're all alone. No one can see us or overhear us, Emma."

She watched as the young servant drew a deep, quavering breath. Slowly the shivering stopped.

"What do you want me to do, miss?" Emma asked.

Brittany felt relief spiral through her, though she knew she couldn't feel safe just yet. She was still a long way from the train depot.

"Just go on upstairs to my room. When you see I'm not there, raise the alarm just the way you normally would have. My stepbrother will be so angry with me, he won't have time to think about you. Just don't try to stop me from going. That's all I ask, Emma."

If possible, Emma's eyes grew even rounder. Now, Brittany could plainly see they were filled with tears. "But where will you go? What will you do?" the young servant whispered.

They were good questions, Brittany thought. The same ones she'd been asking herself since yesterday evening, almost endlessly. The fact that she still didn't have good answers didn't mean she could afford to stop her plans now.

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I only know that I can't stay here, Emma. I don't belong here. Can you understand that?"

The younger girl nodded, swallowing back her tears. "I think so," she answered slowly. "The master and his wife, they don't care for anyone except themselves."

When she realized what she had said, she blushed scarlet to the roots of her thick, auburn hair. On impulse, Brittany threw her arms around her.

"You _do _understand. Bless you, Emma. Go upstairs, now, and don't look back. I'll be gone before you know it."

Emma straightened her shoulders. "All right," she said, giving her eyes a quick dab with the edge of her apron. "I'll do it. You've always been kind to me—to all of us. I guess this is the only way I can return the favor. Just—please—be careful, miss."

"I will," Brittany promised, surprised to find her own throat thick with tears. "And I won't forget you, Emma."

She picked up her carpet bag, walked swiftly to the front door, twisted the knob, and pulled it open. She could feel how cold the wind was, even from inside the house.

Clamping her teeth down on the sudden urge to shiver, Brittany stepped out onto the front step. But, as she turned to close the door, a sudden gust of wind struck her. Her unpinned hat sailed from her head. Instinctively, she spun around, grabbing for it.

The front door slipped from her grasp and slammed shut behind her.

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><p><strong>AN: Dun, dun, duuuunnnnn! Oh, the suspense! ;) Hehe, I make myself laugh :') Ahem. Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!**

**P.S. For those of you waiting for the epilogue of _Impossible to Ignore_...please be patient; I'm working on it. I just really want to make it good for you guys, and it's taken me longer than usual to come up with a good idea for it. :/ So...hopefully by next week I'll finally have something for you! :D  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hello, everyone!**

**Thanks so much to everyone who has alerted/favorited/reviewed/read! I'm really glad you guys seem to be enjoying this story so far. :)**

**First, the reviewers. I'm sorry guys. I totally dropped the ball on responding to you this time in PMs (those of you whom I can PM anyway). So, I'll do it here, k? Great :)**

**_wkgreen_ - Thanks, as always! Hehe, I know, stupid wind, ruining Brittany's plan...*shakes fist at wind* I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

**_Hummel-Evans_ - Haha, exactly! What's going to happen to Brittany now? ...This chapter will tell. ;) Aw, yeah. Poor Emma. At least Brittany has a chance to escape that torture. Emma has to stay there...:( Anywho, thanks, of course, for the review! I hope you like this chapter! The suspense continues...hehehe ;)**

**_Laucha_ - Thanks, and well, your wish is my command! Enjoy! :D**

**_Pridemunkeyz_ - *gasp!* Indeed! Finn and Rebecca have a lot to answer for. But, will they? Who knows? Besides me of course. Mwahahahaaa! ;)  
><strong>

_**Last White Feather**_** - Haha awesome. :) I'm glad you like the inner dialogue! I am a huge fan of inner thought processes and all that hoopla. Probably because I tend to hold conversations with myself and other people in my head all the time. Ahem. I mean...I'm completely normal and do _not_ do that...*awkward silence* ANYway, hehe, Santana's arrival will knock your socks off! Maybe. Or maybe by the time she shows up you'll just be like, "Finally!" ;) It won't too long now, though. Just a few more chapters. I need to flesh out the backstory plot before it starts to get into the juicy stuff. ;) Anywho, thanks again for the review! It's much appreciated, and I hope you like this chapter. :D**

**Okay, so want to hear a funny story? If not, be my guest and skip to the chapter. So, Thursday was the 15th of March, which is the Ides of March. Well, I was sitting in my 3:30-6:30 class and we hear this siren right outside the window. Then some people got notification warning things on their phones saying that there was a double stabbing on campus. At this, my professor starts to freak out about how the university should be on lock down because this is similar to how the Virginia Tech shootings started - with a couple people shot and then the inaction of the university left it open for the guy to kill a bunch more people. Anyway, come to find out, what happened was a guy and a girl thought it would be fun to have a knife fight, which ended when they both stabbed each other - non-fatally. I found this hilarious for a number of reasons. First, a girl was involved. You don't usually hear about a girl being involved in a knife fight with some guy. Second, and most importantly, two people got stabbed on the Ides of March, the same day in 44 BCE that Julius Caesar was stabbed to death by the members of the senate! Heheheee, what timing those crazy kids had. :) Yeah, so, that was pointless to tell you guys, but I thought it was interesting, so there you go! :)**

**Anywho...I'm sorry for the delay in posting this. I was distracted by school, work, and the epilogue of my other story. But, I'm good to go now on this story, so, yeah, there won't be such a gap between chapters. :)**

**I'll shut up now. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D**

* * *

><p>Instantly, Brittany abandoned any thought of retrieving her hat. Instead, she turned and moved quickly down the steps. Once on the sidewalk, she turned right and headed for the nearest street corner as fast as the snowstorm would allow her.<p>

But away from the shelter of the house, the wind struck her full in the face, so strong it threatened to push her right straight back to her stepbrother's doorstep.

At any moment, Brittany expected to hear Finn's voice cry out, feel his strong arms grab her from behind and hold her. _Don't think about what might be behind you_, she told herself. _Just look straight ahead. Keep moving forward._

When she looked ahead, all she saw was a swirling mass of white, the snowstorm all around her.

Without her hat to protect her head, snow embedded itself in Brittany's hair, stung against her face, insinuated itself inside the collar of her coat as she bend over double. It crunched like gritty sand beneath her feet, but underneath the snow, the sidewalk was slick and icy.

_Move!_ she urged herself. _Don't look back._ But every step was an immense struggle.

The air was so cold Brittany's breath burned in her lungs. The wind in her face made her eyes water. Familiar landmarks disappeared in the swirling snow. It seemed to Brittany as if she were moving in slow motion. Her instincts screamed at her to gather up her skirts and run. Only one small portion of her mind, still clear and calm, urged her to use caution.

If Brittany slipped and fell, she could sprain an ankle or break a leg. If she became injured, she would have no hope of ever reaching the train depot.

The back of Brittany's neck crawled, as if she could already feel Finn's eyes upon her. She clenched her teeth against the cold, pulled the collar of her coat up around her neck, and continued her slow progress forward. It wasn't that far to the nearest corner.

_You can do this, _she told herself fiercely. _You have no choice. All you have to do is put one foot in front of the other._ Without warning, her left foot extended into open space. Brittany jerked it back so quickly she almost tumbled over backward. At last! She had reached the corner.

But instead of feeling triumphant, she felt her heart plummet in dismay. The snow was falling so thick and fast, Brittany couldn't see across the street. How on earth would she be able to hail a hansom cab?

According to her plan, all Brittany had had to do was leave the house and walk across the nearest street corner. Once out of sight of Finn and Rebecca's bedroom window, she's counted on at least a small margin of safety, and quick access to transportation.

It was easy to hail the horse and buggies known as hansom cabs in the Hudsons' prosperous neighborhood. Only the wealthiest of families continued to keep their own horses and carriages, and the streetcar didn't run through the area yet. The easy availability of transportation had been a key part of Brittany's plan to escape.

However, from the moment she had set foot outside the house, all her desperately laid plans had been swept away, blown off course by the driving wind of the snowstorm.

"Britt! Brittany Pierce!"

Brittany's heart leaped in her chest. That was Finn's voice! The slam of the front door had made her worst nightmare come true. He had discovered she was missing before she could put any more than half a block between them.

Her only hope now lay in the fact that Finn didn't know which way she'd gone after leaving the house. If he set off in the wrong direction…

But if Finn guessed correctly, he could reach her within minutes. And the longer she hesitated, the more she increased her stepbrother's chances of locating her.

_There's nothing for it,_ Brittany thought. Praying that the accumulation of snow would cushion her fall, she gathered her skirts in one hand, tightened her grip on her carpet bag with the other, and jumped into the street.

She landed in a snow bank clear up to her knees.

The cold was so intense, Brittany bit down on her tongue to keep from crying out. She could feel the snow, soaking through her skirts and petticoats in spite of her attempt to hold them up and out of the way. Her feet were so cold she could barely feel her toes.

"Dammit, Britt! I know you're out here somewhere! You'll never get away with this, you know that. Now, answer me!"

Brittany's stomach clenched. She began to shiver uncontrollably. But she didn't think the cold had brought on the trembling. She was sure it was the sound of her stepbrother's voice. Even through the cold call of the wind, Brittany could hear the sound of Finn's fury.

Was he closer than he had been before? _No!_ her panicked mind shrieked. _I can't let him catch me._ If he did, Brittany was sure her life wouldn't be worth living anymore. Once back under Finn's "protection," she would be a prisoner forever. Her life would be unthinkable.

_That isn't going to happen,_ she thought, steeling her resolve. _Not even if I have to walk all the way to the train depot._ Still clutching her carpet bag in one hand, holding the other in front of her like a child making its way down a long, dark hallway, Brittany waded out into the street.

She had only taken half a dozen steps when she thought she heard the jingle of a horse's harness. She spun in the direction of the sound. Her feet slipped from under her. Brittany fell painfully to her hands and knees.

Suddenly, a shape loomed out of the snow above her. With a terrified cry, Brittany threw herself to one side. _Oh, Lord,_ she thought. _I've given myself away._

She heard a shout, and prayed that it was the driver of the carriage, not her stepbrother. A moment later, she heard the voice again.

"Is there someone down there?"

Desperately, Brittany pushed herself to her feet. "I need a ride," she called out. "I need to get to the train depot. Is this a cab? Can you take me?"

"I can," the driver shouted. "But it's slow going, I should warn you."

"It doesn't matter," Brittany called back. If she missed the train to Seattle, she would wait as long as it took for the next train—the next train to anywhere. All she wanted was to get away from her stepbrother. _Just get me away from here._

"Can you get in on your own?" the driver called down. "I don't want to let go of the horse in all this wind."

"I think so," Brittany said. She felt her way along the side of the coach until her fingers encountered the door handle. She pushed it down, pulled the door open, hiked up her skirts as best she could, and put her foot on the first step, praying it wouldn't slip right off. The first step of a hansom was about a foot and a half off the ground. Getting into the cabs was difficult even in the best conditions, and conditions could hardly be considered to be the best right now.

"Britt!" she heard Finn shout once more. This time, she was almost certain that the sound was closer. She didn't know whether he could actually see her yet or not. But as soon as he could, she was sure he would try to stop her.

With all her strength, Brittany heaved her carpet bag into the hansom, pulled herself up onto the seat, and slammed the door closed behind her.

"Go!" she shouted to the driver. "Please, go now."

In the next instant, she was jerked against the back of the seat as the horse started forward. She swore she heard one final shout, just as the hansom turned a corner.

Brittany sat in the cold, dark interior of the coach. After a few moments, she pulled her carpet bag across the seat and onto her lap, hugging it to her chest as if it were a long-lost lover.

_I did it,_ she thought, and she felt her tense body relax a fraction. She'd escaped from Finn, and she was safe—for the time being.

If Finn had overheard her shouted instructions to the hansom driver, Brittany knew her safety would be all too short-lived. Even now, her stepbrother would be trying to find transportation of his own, hoping to intercept her at the train depot.

Even if Finn hadn't overheard her, the chances were good he still might find her. If Brittany truly wished to get away, there were only so many places she could go.

_Please,_ she pleaded silently as her fingers found the smooth surface of her mother's cameo ring. _Let my luck change for the better. Don't let Finn catch me. I don't want to end up like a bird in a gilded cage_.

All the way across town as she shivered in the dark, Brittany prayed that she would be in time to board the train that would take her across the mountains to safety in Seattle.

By the time Brittany reached the train depot, she felt all but frozen.

Her fingers had cramped from her tight grip on her carpet bag. Beneath her cold, soaked skirts, her legs and feet had tingled painfully and then gone numb. She had tried stamping against the floor of the cab to keep the blood flowing, but she wasn't sure how well it had worked.

_That would be a fine mess,_ she thought wryly. To finally reach the depot only to be unable to board the train.

The trip to the depot seemed to take forever. As it progressed, Brittany began to feel as though she were encased in some strange, otherworldly cocoon. Though protected from the wind, the interior of the hansom was still cold and dark. The only sounds Brittany could hear were her own heartbeats, her own harsh breaths, and the wail of the wind above them both.

When the hansom finally slowed and stopped, Brittany almost didn't notice it at first, as thought the motion of the cab through the long, cold journey had left her mesmerized. It wasn't until the driver opened the panel in the roof that he used to communicate with passengers that Brittany realized they had stopped.

"Here's the train depot," the driver called down. "The train's still out in front. Looks like you're in luck."

Brittany felt a sudden flush of heat rush through her as she realized that she could hear a new sound. Slicing through the roar of the wind came the deep hiss of some enormous beast: the sound of the steam locomotive, primed and ready to go.

A burst of elation shot through Brittany so abruptly she felt dizzy. She had done it. She had made it to the train depot. In spite of Finn's pursuit. In spite of the storm. All she had to do now was board, and the train would do the rest. It would carry her to safety, far away from the false life her stepbrother had planned for her.

Brittany flexed her fingers and gave her feet one last stomp against the floor of the hansom. Then she leaned over and opened the door. The wind caught it at once, smashing it back against the body of the cab, but for the first time since she'd set out in it, Brittany didn't mind the fury of the storm. She had reached her destination. The storm couldn't hurt her any longer.

Quickly now, desperately eager to reach the train, she slid along the seat toward the open door and prepared to jump down. But just as she was about to set her foot upon the step, the cab driver materialized below her.

He was muffled in a greatcoat, the collar turned up around his chin. He had a scarf wound around his neck, and a cap pulled down over his ears, almost to his eyebrows. The only part of his face Brittany could see were his raw, red cheeks, and a pair of sparkling blue eyes.

"Toss me your bag," the cab driver said. "I reckon you're pretty cold and stiff by now. You'll need some help getting down after that long ride. The horse can stand here. There's some cover. Besides, the snow has stopped."

Brittany looked and was surprised to see that he was right. During her endless journey to the train depot the snow had stopped falling. But the wind still blew, fierce and bone-chilling.

Grateful for the driver's offer of assistance, Brittany tossed the carpet bag down. He caught it, set it on the ground, and then reached toward her. Brittany placed her foot on the step, and then tumbled out into his arms.

"There now," the driver said. "What did I tell you? Just stand a minute, miss, till your legs remember what God made them fore. They'll likely hurt a bit. What do they call it?"

"Pins and needles," Brittany answered. And they'd just appeared in full force. After what felt like hours of being numb, the feeling was returning to her legs with a vengeance.

"Stamp 'em," the driver said. "That'll get the blood going."

Brittany stomped her feet, hearing the snow crunch beneath them. She gritted her teeth as the pain shot upward, making her legs wobble. She was grateful for the support of the cab driver's arms. Without him, Brittany was sure she would have fallen right into the snow. She put her hands on his shoulders and stamped with all her might, determined to get the strength back into her legs as quickly as possible.

_If Rebecca could see this, she'd have an absolute fit,_ Brittany thought to herself. But then everything about this situation would give Rebecca a conniption. At the thought of her stepsister-in-law, Brittany looked around. If Finn had figured out where she'd gone, the break in the weather would work in his favor, not hers. She had to get into the train as soon as possible. Fortunately, the cab driver had brought her right up to the train. Since it was in front of the station, it was actually between Brittany and the depot.

"Thank you," she said sincerely to the driver. "I feel much better now. How much do I owe you?"

He released her at once and stepped back, all business. "That'll be fifty cents, ma'am," he said. Brittany dug in one coat pocket and produced a handful of change. She pressed it into the driver's outstretched hand. Then she picked up her carpet bag and began to move around the back of the cab toward the train.

"Wait a minute," the driver called after her. "You've given me way too much."

Brittany turned back, a genuine smile lighting her face for the first time since the night before. She hadn't truly smiled once since she'd overheard the conversation between Finn and Rebecca.

"No, I haven't," she replied. For what he'd given her, the chance at freedom, no price was too high. Brittany would have handed over her last cent, if that's what it took. "Consider it a bonus, because of the weather," she went on, still smiling. "I'd never have made it to the station without you."

"Well, then," the cab driver said, giving the bill of his cap a tug. "I'm much obliged to you, ma'am. Good luck and safe journey."

Brittany's smile widened brilliantly. She knew he was simply being polite, but the sentiment still warmed her. She was definitely going to need all the luck and good wishes she could get.

"Thank you," she answered.

The driver touched his cap once more, swung himself up onto his seat, and then chirruped to the horse and started the cab moving forward. As it pulled away, Brittany caught her breath.

The train sat in front of the station like a great black dragon. At its head, a thick vapor of part steam, part coal smoke oozing from its smokestack, was the great, jet-black locomotive. Behind it, lining up like beads along a string, Brittany counted seven cars. The one on the very end, she knew, would be an observation car, or "smoker."

Here male passengers would be allowed to smoke, and drink, if they'd brought spirits with them. But Brittany didn't think anyone would be standing outside on the back observation platform to view the passing scenery on this trip. It was too likely they'd be all but frozen.

In the cars directly behind the locomotive, Brittany could see mail and baggage being loaded. Farther down the train, she saw faces peering from windows, and decided those must be the passenger coaches. She wondered which one would have a place for her.

_You'll never find out if you just stand here,_ she scolded herself. _You'd better get going._

Even as she moved forward, two sharp whistles split the air. "All aboard!" she heard a voice shouting.

Another five minutes, and she'd have missed the train. Brittany moved quickly toward the nearest coach.

"I don't have a ticket!" she called out to the conductor.

"That's all right, ma'am," he said, turning toward her. He gestured with one hand, urging her forward. "Get on board and we can settle up once we're underway. Just hurry up, now. We're about to get going." He put a hand under her elbow and helped her step up into the train.

"Britt!" a voice behind her boomed.

Brittany's heart and footsteps faltered. Finn had found her! But she didn't look back, knew she couldn't acknowledge Finn's shout in any way. If she did, she'd alert her fellow passengers that she was the one for whom he was crying out.

And she'd acknowledge that he had power over her.

Instead, she began to move swiftly down the length of the train car.

"Britt," she heard Finn's voice cry again. "Don't let that young woman board the train," he went on. "Stop her!"

Brittany's eyes darted right and left. If she could just find some place to conceal herself…_I can't give up now. Not when I've come so far. I can't let Finn stop me._

But the farther she progressed along the car, the more Brittany felt her hope falter. There was only row after row of straight-backed seats, all facing toward her.

_I'm in a day coach_, she realized. The kind used for short excursions. But sure a train such as this would have more than just day coaches. The trip to Seattle required an overnight journey. The train must also include sleeping accommodations. If Brittany could reach a sleeper car, she might hide in one of the berths.

She reached the end of the car and pulled the connecting door open just as she heard Finn's voice, arguing with the conductor.

"No, I don't intend to travel on this contraption! My sister is on this train without my permission. What I intend to do is stop her!"

Brittany pulled the door closed behind her. She maneuvered through the small covered area that connected the day coach with the car behind it. Pulling the second door open, she felt a tiny spurt of relief.

It was a sleeper. Now all she had to do was to pray the conductor delayed Finn long enough for Brittany to locate a place to conceal herself. And then, she had to pray that Finn never found her.

Brittany moved down the aisle as quickly as she could, often turning sideways to avoid colliding with her fellow passengers. All around her, people were preparing to retire for the night. Like the day car, the sleeping car had no individual compartments. It was open. To convert the car into its sleeping accommodations, lower berths were formed by pulling special extensions out between the seats. Upper berths, all but invisible when folded up during the day, were pulled down into an open position.

A porter bustled near the front of the car, making up berths, helping a woman settle two small children. He stepped aside to let Brittany pass with hardly a glance in her direction.

"I saw her come this way, I tell you!"

Brittany picked up her pace. It took every ounce of willpower she had not to glance back over her shoulder. If she once looked at Finn, all would be lost. Never had she heard her stepbrother's voice so filled with fury, though it sounded strange and muffled.

_He must be between the cars,_ Brittany thought. If he entered the sleeper and saw her…

"No," she whispered, completely unaware she'd voiced her desperate thought aloud. She had all but reached the end of the car. Should she continue on to the next one, or stop now, search for a place to hide? "Please, God, don't let him catch me."

"There," a voice said. "Up there."

Brittany skidded to a stop. A girl about her own age was standing at the end of the car. Brittany had a brief impression of startled blue eyes staring straight into hers for a fraction of a second, and then warming for a reason Brittany couldn't fathom.

"It's all right," the girl said soothingly. "Just give me your hand."

Brittany reached out, and felt ice cold fingers close around hers. _She's as afraid as I am. _But of what, Brittany didn't know.

"Go on," the girl said. "Climb up."

Without stopping to think any longer, Brittany stepped onto the lower berth and tossed her carpet bag upward. The girl gave her a boost. A moment later, Brittany was sliding into the upper berth. Her unknown friend yanked the green drapes that provided privacy for each set of berths closed behind her. But she stayed close. Brittany could see the impression of her back where it pressed against the curtain.

"She's in here, I tell you. Dammit, Britt, I demand you show yourself this instant!" Finn's voice bellowed.

_Just in time,_ Brittany thought frantically, adrenaline still pumping through her veins. It was all she could do not to clap her hands over her ears to shut out the sound of Finn's voice. But she was afraid any movement she made might disturb the curtain protecting her hiding place.

She forced herself to lie absolutely still, and heard a ripple of consternation pass through the sleeping car. Finn had done something no gentleman ever did: he'd cursed in mixed company.

"Can I help you, sir?" she heard the porter ask. "Though I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to remember there are women and children in this car."

"I'm not blind. I can see that," Brittany heard Finn snap back. She was sure it galled him to be chastised by a porter, someone he'd consider no better than one of his own household servants.

"May I help you, sir?" she porter asked again, his voice strained.

"I'm looking for my sister. I'm her guardian, and she has boarded this train without my consent. I'm certain she came into this car. I demand that you turn her over to me this instant!"

There was something in Finn's voice that Brittany had never heard before. Something more than anger. This was something ugly, something brutal.

She tried not to think of what would happen to her if he caught her now, now that she'd forced him to follow her through the storm. Been the cause of him being taken to task for his behavior in public. She felt a hard knot of terror form in the center of her stomach.

"All right, Sam," she heard another man's voice say. Brittany thought she recognized the voice of the conductor who'd helped her board earlier. "Folks in the day car remember seeing a young woman come through in a hurry. It may be she came this way. Do you remember seeing anyone come through here?"

Brittany felt the knot twist. She held her breath.

"No, sir," the porter answered. "I can't say that I did. But I have been pretty busy in here."

"Oh, this is ridiculous," Finn burst out impatiently. "I can't believe the railroad is so mismanaged. I tell you she must be here somewhere."

"What's your sister's name, sir?" Brittany heard the porter, Sam, ask.

"Brittany," Finn snapped.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," the porter called out, "but is there a young lady named Brittany anywhere in this car?"

"Brittney!" exclaimed a voice so close to Brittany that in spite of her desire to stay motionless, she flinched back.

It was the voice of the girl who'd helped her into her hiding place. She was still standing right on the other side of the green curtain that formed the only barrier between Brittany and Finn.

"Brittney," the girl repeated, the surprise plain in her voice. "But that's my name!"

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><p><strong>AN: Oooo, what is going on here? I know, I've got you guys right on the edge of your seats. ;) Lol, j/k. At least Brittany made it to the train safe and sound (for now?). That's good, right? :) **

**I hope you enjoyed this, and I'll be back with chapter 4 in the near future! :D**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, readers!**

**Okay, so funny story. I had this chapter written last Tuesday, and I sent an e-mail to my Beta telling her that. Then, I hadn't heard back from her by Friday, so I was like, "What is the hold up?" and checked my sent mail. Well, come to find out, I hadn't actually attached my chapter to the e-mail...Then, she's been out of town, so...yeah. My bad for the wait. I know how annoying it can be when updates aren't at least at regular intervals.**

**Anyway, so the reviewers! **

_**chiknhed**_** - First of all, hilarious name. Second of all, thanks for the review, and I'm glad it was suspenseful for you! I hope you like this chapter! :)**

_**Last White Feather**_** - Hehehe, I know, I'm sneaky. ;) Lol, I'm glad you're enjoying this even though there's a delay in the presence of Santana. :) Of course she'll be here! You can't have Brittany without Santana. That's just blasphemy. ;P In fact, I think that if you can hold out for another chapter, you might be appeased sooner than you think...if you catch my drift *wink, wink, nudge, nudge* Anywho...thanks for the review, and I hope this chapter is satisfactory! :D**

**You know I can't help blabbering on about things you guys couldn't care less about, so here's another little story for those of you who actually read these things in their entirety. I'm a TA for a mythology class, and I just finished grading the second round of essays. Well, I gave this one guy a 68 because he clearly just half-assed his paper, just like the first essay, and I mean, really, he deserved a lower grade than that, but I was having a rare bout of generosity at the time. Anyway, so, he came up to the professor after class yesterday and asked him if he could revise his paper to get a better grade because he just didn't have much time to write the second essay. You know what took up so much of his precious time that he couldn't write a measly 1,000 word essay in a way that's acceptable for college? Because he's been pledging a fraternity. Yup. Stupid frat guy. I felt like going up to him and giving him an even lower grade just for having the audacity to try to pull that stupid, "I've been wasting my time with parties and hazing and haven't been doing what I'm actually _supposed_ to be doing at college" crap. Goodness, I just hate people like that. Lazy asses. Like, just drop out. No offense to anyone reading this who is a member of a sorority (or fraternity, although I doubt there are any guys reading this story); I know not everyone is a waste of space like this guy.**

**Anywhoozle, also! You know what I like to watch? _Jeopardy!_ Don't you just get a giddy sense of accomplishment when you get the right answer that the contestants get wrong? I do. :) I also love to see how quickly I can think of the answer and keep yelling it at the screen** **until someone buzzes in or the answer is revealed. *Sigh* Good times. :)**

**Ahem, so, aside from all the usual random useless stuff, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D**

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><p>Brittany felt her heart freeze inside her chest. <em>No!<em> her mind shrieked. _This can't be happening!_

Had the girl tricked her into hiding so that she could reveal her to her stepbrother? _But I've never seen her in my life before,_ Brittany reasoned. Such a plan just didn't make sense.

"Did you say your name was Brittany?" Brittany heard the conductor ask.

Brittany pressed herself against the back of the berth, clutching her carpet bag to her chest, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and the green curtain. But even as she did it, she realized the gesture was useless. If the young woman revealed where Brittany was, nothing in the world would stop Finn from finding her.

"Yes, my name is Brittney," the young woman said.

"Will you come forward, please, miss?" Brittany once again heard the kind voice of the conductor.

Brittany listened to the whisper of skirts, the click of shoes, as the girl who had helped conceal her moved off down the aisle. The green curtain in front of Brittany's face swayed ever so slightly as the girl stepped forward. Brittany held her breath.

"Now then," she heard the conductor say after a moment. "Is this the young lady you're looking for?"

"What is the meaning of this?" Finn's voice said, his tone harsh and indignant.

"You have asked if there is a young woman named Brittany in the car," the conductor answered in a strained but patient voice. "This is the only young woman who has come forward. I take it she is not your sister?"

But when Finn spoke again, Brittany knew at once that he'd completely ignored the conductor, speaking instead to her unknown friend in a voice that made goosebumps rise on Brittany's skin.

"You're trying to trick me, aren't you?" Finn asked menacingly. "The two of you are in this thing together. Where is she? What have you done?"

Without warning, the girl named Brittney gave a sharp exclamation. "Let go of me!" she cried out. "Let go, you're hurting my arm!"

"_That's enough!_" the conductor shouted, the last of his patience vanishing. Brittany heard a child begin to whimper, the sound quickly hushed. "Sir, your behavior is inexcusable," the conductor went on. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave this train at once."

"I tell you, I will not," Finn snapped back. "I will stay here until I find my sister. I demand to know what's going on."

"_No._" The conductor's voice was as hard and quick as the crack of a whip.

"Sir," he said forcefully. "No one on this car has anything to tell you. You have laid rough hands on this young lady for no other reason than that she is not your sister. Your behavior is unacceptable, and it is dangerous. I order you to leave this train at once. If you do not go of your own accord, I will summon assistance and have you thrown off."

Brittany heard Finn make a choking sound, obviously disbelieving what he was just told. "Ms. Sylvester will hear of this," he rapped out. "I am not without influence."

Absolute silence descended upon the sleeping car. Brittany pressed one fist against her mouth in anticipation.

Sue Sylvester was one of the most powerful people in all of Washington. People called her the Empire Builder. She was the force behind the Great Northern Railway. A word from Sylvester, and the conductor could be fired and never allowed to work for the railroad again.

_Maybe I should give myself up,_ Brittany thought. _I'm putting other people in danger, innocent people._

"Naturally, you must do as you think fit, sir," the conductor said in a stiff voice. "As must I. My first duty is to the safety of these passengers, and I believe you are a menace to that safety. You will leave this train. _Now._"

In the split second of silence that followed, Brittany could hear someone breathing heavily through his mouth. _Finn_, she realized. She didn't think anyone had ever spoken to her stepbrother in so forceful a manner.

"You'll be sorry," Finn said, his voice all but a snarl. _He sounds like an animal_, Brittany thought. A predator furious at being deprived of its prey. "You haven't heard the last of this, I promise you."

She heard heavy footsteps, and then the bang of a door. There was another moment of complete silence. Then, slowly, Brittany began to hear the rustling of garments and bedding that told her the other occupants of the sleeping car were trying to return to normal.

"We'll be getting under way in just a few moments, ladies and gentlemen," the conductor said, his voice sounding tired. "I apologize for this distressing interruption."

"If he does go to Sylvester, I'll speak for you," said a man's voice. "I'm not without some influence myself. Here's my card."

"Judge Schuester, thank you, sir," the conductor answered, his voice warming. "If you will all excuse me now, I must see to the rest of the cars. If you need anything, please ask Sam to assist you."

Again, Brittany heard the sound of retreating footsteps, this time followed by the gentle but firm closing of the coach door. Brittany could all but hear her fellow passengers catching their collective breaths.

"When is the train going to start moving, Mama?" a plaintive young voice inquired.

"The conductor said it wouldn't be long now," a woman replied. "Come on now, let's get you settled in for the night."

"Can I sleep on top?" the child asked, the tone excited.

"No," her mother answered, a laugh in her own. "You most certainly may not. The restless way you sleep, you'll fall off in the middle of the night."

"But I could fall from the bottom, too," the child protested.

"Well," her mother said practically. "At least you won't have so far to go."

Brittany felt rather than heard the return of the young woman who'd helped conceal her. The curtains which veiled her hiding place stirred ever so slightly but did not part.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" Brittany heard the porter, Sam, inquire, his voice right by her head.

"I'm fine," the girl named Brittney replied in a subdued voice. "He frightened me, but he didn't hurt me. Though I must say," she went on, her tone rallying, "I was never so glad _not_ to be somebody's sister in all my life."

"Wherever that girl is, I hope he never finds her," Brittany heard the woman with the young child comment. Relief made hot tears prick at the back of Brittany's eyes. Without warning, two whistles shrieked, long and mournful through the icy night.

"There we go," the porter called out. "We'll be under way in just a moment. Does anybody need my help?"

Brittany listened to his heavy footsteps moving off toward the front of the sleeping car. She laid perfectly still, breathing softly through her mouth, listening to her pounding heart. Where was Brittney? Was she still right beside the berth?

In the next instant, Brittany almost tumbled out as the train jerked forward. Slowly at first, then with ever increasing speed, Great Northern #25 began to glide out of the Spokane depot.

_I've done it,_ Brittany thought. _I'm actually getting away._

Soon, the life she had lived with Finn and Rebecca would be far behind. She would leave behind the suitor they had chosen, who had never really loved her. Even the graves of her parents would be left behind. All the external things that made her Brittany Pierce.

_Who will I be now?_ Brittany wondered. How would she change, now that she could choose for herself?

As if watching her new life revealed on a stage, Brittany saw the green curtain screening the berth pull back. Little by little, the form of the girl who had hidden her came into view, silhouetted against the darkening windows of the berth just opposite. Brittany couldn't see her face clearly, just her outline.

"You can come out now. It's safe," the girl named Brittney murmured.

In total silence, Brittany scooted forward. Brittney reached to take the carpet bag, and then dropped it to the floor. Brittany swung her legs out over the edge of the upper berth, twisting over onto her stomach. She felt Brittney's hand guide one leg to a toe hold on the lower berth. Brittany put her weight down on it. A moment later, she had both feet on the wooden floor.

Slowly, Brittany turned toward the girl who had so unexpectedly saved her from her stepbrother. As she got her first good look at Brittney's face, Brittany's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she felt dizzy, disoriented.

Looking at the girl who saved her was almost like looking into a mirror. She looked just like Brittany.

The match wasn't exact, it was true, but the other girl had the same golden hair, the same fine, porcelain-pale skin, though her blue eyes were just a shade or two lighter than Brittany's own ocean-blue ones.

She was a little shorter, too, Brittany realized. She could see the other passengers by looking over her shoulder. But still, they looked so much alike they could have been taken for sisters.

No wonder Finn had been so angry, she thought. He had been so sure he had caught her. The shorter blonde's resemblance to Brittany must have seemed a cruel and bitter trick.

"Is your name really Brittany?" she blurted out.

A quick smile flitted across the other girl's features. "Yes, it really is. Brittney Bennett."

"I'm Brittany Pierce," Brittany answered. Suddenly, a thought struck her. "How do you spell your name?" Brittany asked and saw the other girl's smile fade into a perplexed frown, her brow furrowed slightly.

"How do I spell my name?" she inquired slowly, continuing only when Brittany gave her an affirmative nod. "Well, I spell it with an N-E-Y. Why?"

Brittany sighed as she looked away, slightly embarrassed that she had asked such a seemingly bizarre question, but also glad that she did. She lifted her gaze back to her companion and smiled. "I just wanted to see if we spelled our names the same way as well. However, I suppose we're not _exactly_ the same, then," Brittany said with a small chuckle. "I spell my name with an A-N-Y."

Brittney smiled slightly and nodded her understanding, but she said nothing else, although she did continue to regard Brittany steadily, almost expectantly, as though she were waiting for something. What it was, Brittany couldn't tell.

Suddenly uncomfortable under the shorter girl's intense gaze, Brittany found herself saying the first thing that came to mind to fill the silence.

"My mother wanted to call me that, after her own mother. But Papa always said Brittany was too long a name for me. I was always dashing from place to place, all the letters would never catch up. So he called me Britt instead."

"Britt," the other girl repeated. "A nickname. I like that. My papa never called me anything if he could help it." There was another awkward pause. "Is that horrible man really your stepbrother?" Brittney burst out.

All of a sudden, Brittany felt exhausted. She sat down hard on the lower berth. After a moment, Brittney sat down beside her. When they turned to face one another, tucking their feet up onto the berth, the two girls were all but hidden from view.

"Yes, he is my stepbrother," Brittany said. "My guardian."

"Oh, but, I thought you said—" Brittney broke off, her face turning bright red. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't mean to pry."

"It's all right," Brittany said. "You can ask me. What is it?"

"I thought you said—" Brittney stammered again.

_She's shy,_ Brittany realized suddenly. She was so shy that Brittney was actually wringing her hands in distress. _How on earth had she ever had the courage to stand up to Finn?_ Brittany wondered. _Even I could barely find the gumption to do that._

"I mean—you mentioned your father—"

Suddenly, the tears Brittany had fought back earlier filled her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them from spilling over.

"My father is dead," she answered softly. "Not quite two years now. He died on his honeymoon, about a week after he married Finn's mother. After Papa died, Finn and his wife were the only relations I had left. They didn't want to take me in, but they didn't have a choice."

_And neither did I_, she thought. _Until last night._ Then, she had taken the only choice she could see, no matter what the consequences.

Brittney's hands stilled. "So your father was a good person," she said. "And you weren't happy living among strangers." Her voice was calm, but Brittany could hear the fine tremor of fear running through it.

"No, I wasn't," she answered honestly. "But I don't think it was because they were strangers. I think it was just because of—who they were. And who I was. They didn't want me, you see. No matter what I did."

"Yes, I see," Brittney said softly. "But, if someone really wanted you, you think it might be all right, even if you didn't know them very well to begin with?" she prompted.

Brittany stared across the berth. Brittney's face looked hopeful, even eager. But, as Brittany looked more closely, she could see the rapid rise and fall of Brittney's chest. Her blue eyes glittered, almost as if she had a fever.

_She's desperate,_ Brittany observed. _As desperate as I was._

"If someone really wanted you, I imagine almost anything might be all right," Brittany answered cautiously.

Across the berth, Brittney Bennett looked back down at her hands. "I hope so," she said softly.

"Thank you," Brittany said abruptly.

Brittney looked back up. "What for?"

In spite of the seriousness of their conversation, Brittany gave a helpless spurt of laughter. How could it be that Brittney didn't know what for?

"For hiding me from my stepbrother," she said, mirth still evident in her voice. "If it hadn't been for you—"

"Why did you run away?" Brittney interrupted.

_This has to be the strangest conversation I have ever had in my life,_ Brittany mused. Never had she shared such confidences. But then, she had never had anyone to share them with. After her father's death, there had been no one who cared.

"I discovered something—unpleasant—about my stepbrother," Brittany began. "I discovered that he had been stealing the inheritance my mother left to me. To cover it up he—"

At the thought of Artie Abrams, Brittany felt her heart clench. "He encouraged me to believe that one of his friends was in love with me," she finished in a rush. "Finn wanted me to marry Artie. I think he even would have forced me."

"Because once you were married to his friend, your stepbrother would have been safe," Brittney filled in.

Brittany nodded. Brittney might have been shy, but that didn't mean she was stupid. "Why did you help me?" Brittany asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Brittney's pale skin flushed. Once again, her hands worried one another in her lap. On impulse, Brittany reached with both of her own to cover them.

"It's all right," she reassured the other girl. "You don't have to answer if it makes you upset. I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you did. If there's anything I can ever do for you—"

"It was the look on your face," Brittney interrupted once more.

Whatever answer Brittany had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that. "The look on my face?" she asked, her brows knitting together in confusion.

Now it was Brittney's turn to nod. "You looked so frightened, so—despondent. It was exactly the way I felt inside and so—"

"Don't tell me you're on this train because you're running away, too!" Brittany broke in enthusiastically.

Brittney gave a reluctant breath of laughter. Then she turned her hands over, so that her fingers clutched Brittany's. Looking to the soft blue of the other girl's eyes, Brittany could suddenly see the desperation in them was back. The hunted look had disappeared while Brittney had listened to Brittany tell her story. But now that she was speaking of herself, it had returned with a vengeance.

"No," Brittney replied quietly. "I'm not running away. Just the opposite, in fact. I suppose you could say that I'm running toward." Brittney paused and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I'm going to Seattle be married."

"Congratulations!" Brittany cried, knowing it was the wrong thing to say even as she heard herself say it. Being engaged wasn't always cause for celebration, as she herself knew all too well. Judging by the look in Brittney's eyes, Brittany figured her companion knew it as well. "What's their name?"

"Her name is Santana Lopez," Brittney said in so low a voice Brittany had to lean forward to be able to hear it. "My father arranged the marriage just before he died."

"Well," Brittany said, wracking her brain for something else to say. Perhaps if she kept talking long enough, she could discover the cause behind the hunted look in Brittney Bennett's eyes. "What does she look like? How did you meet? Tell me all about her." She shot off the questions with barely a beat between them.

"I don't know," Brittney replied so quietly that Brittany wasn't quite certain that she had heard the shorter blonde correctly.

"You don't _know_?" she asked incredulously.

Brittney shook her head, a slight blush creeping up her neck at Brittany's bluntness. "I've never seen her," she explained, her voice whisper soft. "All I know is that she's the daughter of my father's dearest childhood friend. Papa and Mr. Lopez, they grew up together. The Lopez's stayed in Seattle, but Papa came east. He arranged the marriage just before he died. He made me promise—on his deathbed—"

"Wait a minute," Brittany cut her companion off, her head reeling. Surely such things didn't happen anymore, did they? This was the twentieth century, after all. "You're on your way to marry a woman you have never even _met_?"

Mutely, Brittney nodded, her eyes now focused on their joined hands.

"Well, no wonder you're so desperate."

Brittany released Brittney's hands to clap one of her own over her mouth. Her impetuosity had carried her away again. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was thoughtless of me. I shouldn't have said it."

Brittney snapped her gaze back to the taller blonde. "Why not? It's true," she said. "Didn't I say that I thought you looked as desperate as I felt?"

"You did," Brittany admitted. She stared at Brittney, sitting motionless on the far side of the berth. "No wonder you were so worried about strangers," she added softly. "But isn't there anyone else you could go to? What about your mother's family?"

Brittney simply shook her head in response, silently telling Brittany that she had no other family. "If only I could meet Santana first," she suddenly burst out. "Learn what she's like before I marry her. But there's no time—no time at all. She's meeting the train in Seattle and we're going to be married within the week. I don't even know how she feels about it. What if she's angry? What if she hates me?"

Once again, Brittany reached for her newfound friend's hands, seeking to comfort her in any way Brittany could. Her heart went out to the shorter blonde. At least she had known Artie Abrams. _But you didn't really, did you?_ her mind asked. All she'd truly seen of Artie was what he had wished to show her.

How did you really come to know someone, to trust them, Brittany wondered. How did a total stranger become transformed into a friend, a lover, a spouse?

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, remorse evident in her voice. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"Well, now, what do we have here?" a voice said beside her. Brittany jumped, starting so hard her head thumped against the upper berth.

"Mr. Evans!" Brittney exclaimed. Brittany turned to see the porter standing in the aisle next to them. "This is my friend Britt," Brittney continued in a rush. "We got on together in Spokane, don't you remember?"

"Well, now," the porter said again, this time more slowly. His hazel-green eyes traveled from one girl to the other. "Can't say I do," he admitted, even more slowly. Without warning, a smile split his face.

"I can tell you this much, though. I would have a hard time telling you two gals apart. Like two peas in a pod, that's what you are." But his eyes finally focused straight on Brittany. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said. "But what did you say your name was?"

Brittany swallowed past a huge lump in her throat. "Britt," she said, the tremble in her voice thankfully unnoticeable to anyone except her.

Sam Evans ran his knuckles against one side of his chin. "Britt, huh. That would be short for Brittany, now, generally, wouldn't it?"

Now the lump in Brittany's throat had grown so large that she wasn't sure she could force a single syllable out around it. "Generally," she managed, but this time her voice came out in a croak.

Again, Sam looked from one girl to the other. And once more, his eyes stopped on Brittany. "How far you goin'?" he inquired.

"As far as Seattle," Brittany answered. "But I got to the station too late to buy my ticket. The conductor said I could do it once I was on the train—"

Her voice trailed off as she realized what she had just done: admitted that she and Brittney hadn't boarded the train together. The other girl already had a ticket, and the porter knew it.

Sam eased his cap off, and then scratched his head. Brittany could practically see his mind working, turning over whether or not to ask her any more questions.

"Had some unpleasantness just before we left the depot," the porter said at last. "I don't suppose you happened to see any of that?"

"No, I didn't," Brittany answered promptly. "The cold weather made me feel a little unwell, so I lied down as soon as I boarded. I didn't see a thing until after we left Spokane."

_At least it's the truth_, she reasoned, relieved that the porter hadn't asked her if she had _heard_ anything before they had left the depot. Then, as she looked into Sam Evans' kind eyes, she had the feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking, and that he'd phrased his question the way he had on purpose.

"So you couldn't be expected to know anything about that business, then," the blonde porter continued.

"No, sir," Brittany replied softly. She looked down at her hands in her lap. Now she was the one who was worrying them back and forth. "I'm sorry, Mr. Evans," she added after a moment. Her presence on the train could put the porter's job in jeopardy, too, and she was sure that they both knew it.

"Well, now," Sam said for the third and final time. He settled his cap back on his head with one brisk gesture, as though he had come to an important decision.

"No need to apologize for a thing like that, I reckon. Seeing as how it's so late, I'll take care getting your ticket fixed up myself. That way, you can just settle in for a good night's sleep. No need to see the conductor."

Relief swept through Brittany so swiftly she felt light-headed. The porter was sparing her more questions, and more explanations. He wouldn't be the only one to realize that Britt was a nickname for Brittany. So would the conductor, no doubt.

However, if Sam handled getting her ticket himself, the conductor would never need to learn her identity. Brittany would be safe all the way to Seattle. She made quick eye contact with Brittney, who was sitting silently on the far end of the berth. The other girl's mouth turned upward in a slow smile, and Brittany knew her friend had figured out what Sam was doing as well.

"Thank you, Mr. Evans," Brittany whispered sincerely.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Evans," Brittney seconded.

Sam touched one finger to the brim of his cap. "Don't mention it, young ladies. Now I guess we'd better settle up. You're just going the one way?"

Brittany nodded.

"Then I'll need eight dollars," Sam told her.

Brittany reached into her pocket and retrieved the fare, startled to discover that she still had her coat on. In the excitement of hiding from Finn, followed by the revelations during her conversation with Brittney, she had completely forgotten to take it off.

Now the sudden realization that she was wearing her coat made Brittany realize something else. Her lace-up ankle boots and stockings, her skirts and petticoats, from the knees down were soaked clear through. She would catch cold for sure if she didn't change them before retiring for the night.

"Anything else you young ladies need?" Sam asked, smiling warmly.

Brittany brought her mind back to the present with a jerk. "Is there a place where I can change, Mr. Evans?" she asked. "I got pretty wet coming across town in all the snow."

"There's a ladies' washroom right at the end of the car here," the porter gestured. "Though some ladies do prefer to change in their berths."

Brittany didn't see how she would possibly be able to change out of her long skirts and petticoats while lying in her berth, although she could understand why some women might choose to do so.

The sleeping car accommodated both men and women. If a woman changed in the washroom, and then walked back to her berth in her nightclothes, there was no telling who might see her. All a man would have to do was pull aside the curtain in front of his berth to get a good look. There were even stories of men meeting their mistresses on sleeper cars, while wives stayed unsuspectingly at home.

Fortunately for Brittany, however, the washroom was near the berth Brittney had already chosen. She wouldn't have far to go to reach the washroom. Now that she thought about it, Brittany realized at least one woman had passed by during her conversation with Brittney. But Brittany had been so wrapped up in what she and her new friend were saying that she hadn't paid anyone else any attention.

"Thank you, Mr. Evans," she said once more.

"Don't mention it," the porter answered. "You young ladies have a good night's sleep, now. We'll be west of the mountains by the time you wake up in the morning. The trip'll be over before you know it."

He turned and moved back down the aisle. Just before he passed out of earshot, Brittany swore she heard him chuckling, "Just like two peas in a pod."

She glanced across at Brittney to see that she had heard Sam, too. "We really do look alike, you know. We could easily be taken for sisters."

Brittney nodded. "I know. I think it's part of what made me want to help you. When I looked at you, it was just like looking at myself."

All of a sudden, Brittany sat bolt upright, hardly noticing when her head bumped the upper berth for the second time that night, the need to change her cold, wet skirts forgotten. She had just found the perfect way to pay Brittney back for her kindness, and protect herself, too.

"For heaven's sake, what is it?" Brittney demanded, startled by the taller blonde's abrupt movement. "You're not really ill, are you?"

"No," Brittany answered. "But to tell you the truth, I don't feel much like myself."

This might well be the most impulsive thing that she had ever done, even more impetuous than running away. She could practically hear all the letters that made up her name frantically running to catch up with her. By the time they got there, Brittany had decided.

"I don't feel like myself at all," she said, unable to suppress a mischievous grin. She leaned forward, placing her hands on Brittney's shoulders, bringing her face within inches of her new friend's.

"As a matter of fact," Brittany Pierce said to Brittney Bennett, "I think I feel like you."

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><p><strong>AN: So. I was going to have Brittany and Brittney have the exact same name, but just refer to our Brittany as "Britt" the whole time, but I'm not a fan of calling Brittany "Britt" unless she's being spoken to. And, I thought maybe it would be too confusing to call the other girl "Brittany" all the time. Hence, the different spelling, but same pronunciation. I hope it's not too bad? Let me know if it's not working, por favor. :)**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and I'll be back with chapter 5 soon! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hello, readers!**

****PLEASE NOTE** I changed Brittany's friend's name to Brittney, with two Ts, for those of you who read chapter 4 before I made the switch. I like it better this way. So...just FYI. It's not a typo, lol. :) ALSO! I most likely will _not_ be updating next week. I have two 20-page research papers due next Thursday, one of which I haven't started, and one of which I'm only halfway through, so I really need to focus on my school work next week. I will update the week after, even though I have another 20-page paper due that week, so I just wanted to give you guys a heads up. I'm sorry for the inconvenience. :/**

**Ahem, so review responses (well, response; there's only one this time lol):**

**_Last White Feather_ - Haha, thanks. I thought it was rather clever myself. ;) I'm glad you liked that chapter, and this one's for you. ;P I hope you like it!**

**Random ramble for today - You know what game I don't like? Call of Duty. I don't understand why people like it so much. I mean, I like video games as much as the next person, but give me a killing game in which you use a sword or mace or something in your hand to stab or bludgeon people or monsters to death up close and personal any day over some stupid war game, especially a war game where you work in a team and can actually talk to other people (I'm such a loner lol). I only mention it because every story that has Santana as a gamer seems to have her playing COD (not to impugn those authors' choices! It's their stories and they can write whatever they want to no detriment of the plot; it's just a personal preference thing for me, I suppose), and I've always wondered why. *shrugs* ...Yeah, so that was completely pointless, biased ranting about a video game. Because it's what I do best. ;)**

**OH! I keep forgetting this. Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Stupid people who don't know how to write a decent, consistent storyline own it. I don't think a disclaimer is really necessary, but you can never be too sure, right?  
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**Anywho...I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! :D**

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><p>Brittney's eyes widened, becoming larger than Emma's when Brittany told her she was leaving home. Brittney's were the size of dinner plates.<p>

"You feel like me?" she breathed. "You mean—"

Brittany nodded, her eyes still on Brittney's face. "I think we should _trade places_."

Brittney sat back, and Brittany did likewise. It was plain that Brittney needed some room to breathe and take in what the taller blonde was proposing.

"Could I?" she whispered, more to herself than anything. "_Dare_ I?"

"It would only be for a little while," Brittany said reassuringly. "For the rest of the train trip, and when we arrive in Seattle, I'll be you, and you'll be me.

"When your fiancé meets us, I can introduce you as my best friend, who's come to be my attendant at the wedding. I can say I want you to go everywhere with us. That way, you can get to know her by observing the way she treats me. There's no way she can recognize you, is there? She's never seen you?"

"No," Brittney shook her head. "She's never seen me, not even a picture, as far as I know." She pressed her hands against her cheeks. "This is happening too fast," she protested. "I just can't think."

"Then don't think!" Brittany said. "It's so easy. This way, you'll have a whole week to see what Santana is like. That's what you want isn't it? A chance to get to know what kind of person she is before you're married?"

"I did say that," Brittney admitted slowly. "And it is what I want—only—how on earth will we ever tell her the truth?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Brittany said serenely, dismissing her new friend's concern with a light wave of her hand. "This plan might help me, too, you know. In case my stepbrother wires ahead to have someone meet the train in Seattle, hoping to find me. I'm not going back to Spokane, Brittney," she said, her tone sobering. "No matter what happens. I'm never going back."

From opposite ends of the berth, the two young women stared at one another, their expressions equally serious. Then, slowly, Brittney's relaxed into a smile.

"All right," she acquiesced. "I'll do it."

By the time the girls retired for the night, after sharing the picnic supper that Brittney had brought along, they'd settled on a plan of action. From the moment they arose the next morning, Brittany Pierce would be Brittney Bennett, and Brittney Bennett would be Brittany Pierce. They had even gone so far as to consider switching clothes.

But Brittney was just enough shorter than Brittany that they had decided against it, although Brittany had given the other girl her mother's cameo ring to wear. It was distinctive and easily recognizable.

Each girl was also so accustomed to hearing her own version of her name that they feared using any other would only confuse matters. So they had decided that Brittany would ask that Santana Lopez call her Britt, and that she would introduce her best friend as Brittney.

That way neither girl would be accidentally caught answering for the other. They were taking a big enough risk as it was. There was no sense asking for any further complications.

As she finally crawled back up into her berth and pulled the curtain closed in front of her, Brittany was more tired than she could ever remember. Every single inch of her body ached, but her heart danced with elation. She had taken the biggest risk of her life, and won. Perhaps even the storm would be gone by morning. Wasn't the weather always worse on the eastern side of the mountains?

She fell into a deep sleep, lulled by the train's gentle motion.

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><p>In spite of the fact that she had been exhausted the night before, Brittany awakened early the next morning. She could feel a delicious sense of anticipation fill her as soon as her eyes popped open. By now, Spokane and the life she had lived there were far behind. She could start a new life, one lived according to her rules. She could make of herself whatever she wanted.<p>

She rolled over toward the green curtain, which still screened her berth, and discovered that she was grinning at absolutely nothing.

However, she figured that the decision to masquerade as Brittney had something to do with her good humor. The plan had been an inspiration, Brittany concluded. Not only would it provide her with a measure of safety when she reached Seattle, it had made her take a new look at the life which lay ahead of her.

Until she had met Brittney, Brittany had been frightened by the future, however much she had struggled not to admit it. Getting away from Finn had taken all of her energy, her creativity, her impetuosity. She'd had none to spare for what the future might bring. All she could imagine was a life of hardship and sorrow.

And it still might be like that, she admitted to herself, as she rolled over onto her back and tucked her hands behind her head. Undoubtedly, Brittany's future was uncertain. But she felt excited about it now. Filled with possibilities and the spirit of adventure.

She was bound by no one's rules except her own. Not Finn's. Not Rebecca's. The future could be whatever she chose. It was up to her to shape it.

_You can't shape anything if you start your new life as a bed potato, Britt._

Laughing silently to herself and moving quietly, so that she wouldn't wake Brittney in case she was still asleep, Brittany threw back her covers, rolled onto her stomach, and slid down from the upper berth, pulling the robe she had set at the foot of the bed down with her as she did so. Brittany winced when her warm feet hit the frigid, hard floor of the train car. Quickly, she shrugged into her bathrobe and stepped outside the privacy curtain.

But as she released her hold on the upper berth, she realized something. The always-present swaying of the cars had stopped. The train wasn't moving. Unable to see out the window on her side of the train because the curtain was drawn, Brittany moved across the aisle to look out the window.

The berths on this side weren't made up, since the train wasn't full. Why had the train stopped? Brittany wondered. Surely, they weren't in Seattle already, were they?

Using the sleeve of her bathrobe, Brittany wiped moisture from the window. However, even with the glass wiped clean, she could see almost nothing. Staring out the window was like staring at a blank sheet of paper. All Brittany could see was white.

It wasn't until she saw one of the railroad men pass in front of her as he walked the length of the train that Brittany realized the truth.

She was gazing straight out into a snowbank. The train was nowhere near Seattle. It was still high in the mountains.

Swiftly, Brittany whirled and tiptoed back across the aisle. She knelt, and was attempting to ease her carpet bag out from under the lower berth when the green curtains parted. Brittney poked her head out.

"What is it?" she asked. "Are we there already?"

Brittany shook her head. "I don't know why, but we are still in the mountains. I'm going to get dressed and find out what's going on."

Brittney sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the lower berth. "I'm coming with you."

A few moments later, both girls were in the tiny women's washroom, struggling into long skirts and petticoats, pulling up stockings. The washroom wasn't really made for two. It was so small, the girls had trouble turning around. If they weren't careful, they bumped into one another.

Brittany was glad that she had brought skirts and shirt waists with her, rather than dresses. They showed the wear of being folded in the carpet bag somewhat less, although Brittany still felt travel-worn and rumpled. And she never would have managed the many tiny back buttons of the shirt waist without Brittney's help.

"I don't know why I think I'll be able to survive on my own," she said jokingly, as Brittney finished the last of them. "I can't even dress myself!"

"At least the corset hooks in front," Brittney commented.

Brittany made a face. She had always hated wearing a corset. And she had never learned to lace her stays as tightly as Rebecca wanted. Rebecca laced her own so snugly that her figure formed an almost perfect hourglass. Brittany had never understood how her stepsister-in-law was able to breathe, let alone function. Privately, she had always considered Rebecca's tightly laced corset to be a contributing factor to her famous ill-temper.

"No, but, seriously," Brittany protested. "I never even thought about this before, but it's almost impossible for me to get into my own clothing! I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had your assistance. How am I supposed to fasten up all those tiny back buttons?"

The shorter blonde was silent for a moment. Brittany could see her friend's serious expression reflected in the washroom's tiny mirror.

"You can't. Not without a servant," Brittney finally answered quietly. "Maybe we should have exchanged clothing after all. Santana Lopez won't know what I look like, but she does know that Papa wasn't wealthy."

Startled, Brittany stared. The similarities between the two girls were easy to see, but now that she knew what to look for, the differences were just as plain.

Brittany didn't think of her clothing as being particularly fancy, not compared to what Rebecca wore, anyway. But, now that she was paying attention, she could see that Brittney's clothing was as different from hers as Brittany's was from Rebecca's.

Brittany's shirt waist was made of fine, sheer white batiste. The front was adorned with lace inserts. A long row of tiny fabric covered buttons fastened up the back. Even Brittany's heavy, dark brown skirt fastened behind her.

Brittney's shirt waist was made of thicker, sturdier material. It buttoned up the front, as did her skirt of navy blue. Her garments were clean and well cared for, but they were also plain and functional, and she could get into each one of them all on her own.

They were the garments of a working woman, a woman who had few luxuries, and the luxury of a servant to help her dress certainly wasn't one of them. The two young women might look alike, but just a glance at their clothing revealed the fact that they weren't social equals.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said softly. "This is going to sound ridiculous—but I've simply never thought about such things before."

Brittney turned around to face her. "It's all right," she said. "Neither have I, really. I only hope—" she broke off, her expression clouding over.

"What?" Brittany prompted.

Brittney pulled in a deep breath. "I only hope Santana Lopez isn't disappointed when she finds out that I'm the one she's supposed to marry."

Brittany opened her mouth to make a swift dismissal of the other girl's concern, but something in Brittney's expression stopped her.

Switching identities wasn't a grand adventure to Brittney, the way it was to the taller blonde. Instead, it was her own act of desperation. She had latched onto the masquerade as her only means to discover more about her future spouse. Brittney might never have agreed to the switch in the first place, if she had not been feeling so frightened. Glibly dismissing her fears would hardly be the act of a friend, even a brand new one.

"Do you want to call off the ruse?" Brittany asked softly. Then she stood perfectly still as Brittney's pale blue eyes searched her face.

"No," Brittney answered after a moment. "However, I admit it is taking a little more getting used to than I thought it would. I'm not used to almost having a twin sister."

"If it makes you feel any better," Brittany began, directing a warm smile toward her friend, "neither am I. And I promise to do my best _not_ to convince Santana Lopez that she has become engaged to someone who only cares about her clothes and her social calendar."

When the other girl didn't smile, Brittany made an even greater effort to alleviate the tension.

"Though that might not be a bad plan, you know," she confided mock-seriously. "The more idiotic I seem, the better you'll look by comparison."

At long last, Brittney's delicate features lit up in a brilliant smile. "It's all right," she said. "I really _do_ want to go through with this. Just don't drive her away before we can reveal the truth, that's all."

"I promise," Brittany replied, pleased that she had actually coaxed the somber girl into teasing. "Now, let's get out of here before I perish of claustrophobia. I want to find Sam so we can discover where we are."

"And breakfast," Brittney said. "Don't forget about that."

As they made their way back through the sleeping car, both girls were smiling.

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><p>"We're at Cascade. That's the eastern side of the tunnel," Sam, the porter, said, when the girls located him. He was at the very front of their car, assisting the woman with the young child Brittany had overheard the night before. During the time it had taken the girls to dress, the rest of the sleeping car had come to life.<p>

"But why have we stopped?" Mrs. Fabray, the woman with the child, asked Sam, voicing the question every passenger on the train wanted to know.

"Haven't heard for sure," Sam admitted, as he rolled up bedding, stowed it in an upper berth, and then pushed the berth closed. He looped the green curtains up and out of the way. "But I'd guess there's some sort of trouble on the tracks up ahead on account of this storm. Never seen on quite like it, I have to say."

"But I want to go to Seattle," the child protested. "I want to go home."

"Hush now, Beth," scolded her mother. "We all want to get to wherever it is we're going. I'm sure Mr. Evans and the railroad crews are doing the best they can."

Sam leaned down to tweak the youngster on the nose. "I can tell you why we stopped at Cascade, though."

"Why?" young Beth demanded at once. Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes. It was plain she considered her young daughter a handful. Brittany exchanged a quick smile with Brittney.

"Because there's a cook shack here," Sam said. "Best meal stop in all of eastern Washington. You're hungry for breakfast, aren't you?"

"Yes, _sir!_" Beth Fabray said.

"Well, what are you standing around for?" the porter admonished. "We'd better get a move on." With one quick motion, he hoisted Beth up onto his shoulder and started for the train car door. The second he opened it, Brittany felt the bone-chilling cold of the storm.

"It's still snowing pretty hard, I'm sorry to say," Sam said as he looked out. "But at least the wind has died down. Some of the men have cleared a path to the cook shack. You ladies shouldn't have too much trouble," he told the three women still standing in the aisle. "Mind your head now, young lady," Sam advised Beth as they set off out the door.

"Gracious, he wasn't joking about the snow," Mrs. Fabray exclaimed as she moved to follow.

Brittany stuck her head out the door. It was snowing just as hard as it had been the day before. So hard, Brittany could see no more than a little ways in front of her. Because of the high snowbank, she couldn't see the cook shack at all. But she could still see Sam, with Beth perched high upon his shoulder, and Mrs. Fabray hurrying along behind. They reached a break in the snowbank, passed through it, and were lost to sight.

"Come on," she said to Brittney. "We'd better go too."

All the way to the cook house, she tried not to think about the fact that her newly dried ankle boots were being soaked once more.

The outside of the cook shack reminded Brittany of a barn, but inside, she was pleased to discover that it was warm and cozy. A dozen or so rough hewn tables flanked by equally rough benches filled the interior. Some were already occupied with other passengers from the train. All were ready for service, set with white enamelware and tin cups placed upside down.

In one corner of the cook shack, a big pot-bellied stove poured forth warmth. At the opposite side of the room from the stove was the kitchen. Brittany could see an enormous, flat-top cookstove. Pots, pans, and kettles hung from bit spikes along one wall. In front of the stove stood two Asians, one tall and thin, and the other, a woman, shorter and only the slightest bit thicker than the man.

"Hey, there, Tina," Sam called out. "Got some more customers for you."

At the sound of the porter's voice, the woman turned around. "Flapjacks or oatmeal?" she asked with a kind smile.

Brittany met young Beth Fabray's and Brittney's surprised and delighted eyes. "Flapjacks!" all three called back at once. Then Brittney clapped a hand over her mouth.

Their enthusiastic response provoked a ripple of laughter throughout the cook shack. The Asian woman, Tina, grinned. Brittany felt her spirits, which had been dampened by her serious conversation with Brittney, once more begin to soar. This really _was_ an adventure, she thought. And she really ought to make the most of it.

"Let's go find a table," she said, linking her arm with Brittney's. "Come on."

They made their way to a table near the potbellied stove, with the Fabrays trailing behind.

"Looks like we'd better get a move on, Mike," Tina said, smiling as Beth chatted excitedly to Sam about how many flapjacks she was going to eat. "Don't want to keep that little lady waiting any longer than we have to."

The man named Mike smiled, and then turned back to the stove.

"You folks make yourselves comfortable," Tina called as she turned back around herself. "Breakfast will be coming right up."

"That's Tina Chang, the cook," Sam said as he swung Beth down from his shoulder. "Her assistant and husband there is Mike Chang. Best cooks at any stop in Washington. You ask anyone working the railroad."

"Sam says that enough times, he gets an extra helping of flapjacks," Tina sang out. A second wave of laughter went through the passengers in the cook shack.

Sam grinned, as though pleased to have been the cause of a joke. "You folks will be all right now. I have to get back to the train—see who else needs help. I'll come take you back when you're finished." His jovial gaze paused on Brittany and the blonde sitting next to her. "Or maybe one of these young gents can give you ladies a hand." With a tip of his hat, he set off.

"Gracious," Mrs. Fabray exclaimed, as she settled across the table from Brittany and Brittney. Automatically, she reached to restrain Beth, who was squirming on the hard bench, already impatient for her breakfast.

"I don't think I can remember when I last had so much excitement," Mrs. Fabray continued. All of a sudden, a frown appeared between her hazel eyes. "Gracious," she said again. Brittany struggled to keep back a smile. "Gracious" appeared to be Mrs. Fabray's favorite exclamation.

"You two girls certainly do look alike," she went on now. "I'm sorry, I know you told me who you were on the train, but with all the confusion this morning, I'm afraid it just went in one ear and out the other. I'm Mrs. Quinn Fabray."

Brittany took a breath and felt Brittney tense ever so slightly on the bench beside her. This was the moment of truth. "I'm Brittany—Miss Brittany Bennett," Brittany said. "And this is my friend, Miss Brittney Pierce."

"And the same name, too," Mrs. Fabray said, eyes wide in astonishment. Then her brow wrinkled once more. _Uh oh_, Brittany thought. _Here it comes._ The other woman had made the connection between the name Brittany and the incident last night already.

"Brittany," she murmured. "Now what does that remind me of?"

"But everybody calls me Britt," Brittany put in swiftly, hoping to head Mrs. Fabray off.

"Mama," Beth interrupted in a loud whisper, reaching up to tug on her arm. "Where's breakfast? I'm hungry."

"Beth," her mother chastised, immediately sidetracked. "You mind your manners now. Sit still and behave yourself, or you'll have oatmeal instead of flapjacks."

Beth sat bolt upright, hands locked at her sides. She looked so serious, yet so panic stricken, it was all Brittany could do to keep from laughing aloud. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brittney duck her head so Beth wouldn't notice the way that she was smiling.

"And you say that you girls aren't related?" Mrs. Fabray went on, apparently heedless of the reaction she had provoked in her daughter. "Not at all?"

Unable to trust herself to speak without laughing, Brittany shook her head. Mrs. Fabray shook hers, too, with a _tsk_ of her tongue. "Well, I never. Keeping you girls straight will be an accomplishment, I must say."

"Excuse me," a new voice said. "Miss Brittney Bennett?"

Beside her, Brittany felt the real Miss Bennett jerk, as she restrained herself at the last moment from looking up. Brittany laid a hand on her friend's arm to steady her, and then looked up with a smile, and froze. Standing beside their table was a young woman she had never seen before.

She wore a long sleeved white shirtwaist and a dark, woolen skirt that went down to her ankles. She carried a thick coat over one arm. The woman's skin was a natural tan that shone radiantly under the soft lighting of the cook shack. Her hair was as dark as night and half pinned up, the rest falling in waves around her shoulders. One lock of hair had come unpinned and rested precariously across her forehead, as though threatening to tumble down into her eyes. Without warning, Brittany felt her fingers twitch. What would that fine, dark hair feel like as she smoothed it back from the beautiful Latina's forehead?

Abruptly, she realized that she still hadn't said a word, and that the mesmerizing woman was staring down at her, a faint frown between her eyes. They were as captivating as the rest of her, a deep, dark brown that warmed Brittany to the soul.

It was the kind of warm brown that always took her breath away, whose beauty struck straight through the heart. That was the color her eyes were. Suddenly, Brittany felt her throat burn, as if she was fighting back the impulse to cry.

"I beg your pardon," the young woman said at last, her husky voice hesitant. "I don't mean to intrude—I realize this is very forward of me—but did I hear you say that you are Miss Brittney Bennett?"

"_Britt,_" Brittany finally answered firmly with a smile. _For heaven's sake, get a hold of yourself. She's just a woman,_ she mentally scolded herself. The masquerade had been her idea, yet still this young woman's appearance had taken her by surprise. Something she couldn't and wouldn't allow to happen again. She was Brittney Bennett.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss—" Brittany let her voice trail off. "Actually, I don't believe that I've had the pleasure, have I?"

To her astonishment, a flush of faint color swept the young woman's face. "No—not exactly," she stammered. "That is—I—"

"Mama," Beth suddenly whispered again. "I'm about to _starve_."

"Beth," her mother addressed her sternly. "Hush now. You mustn't be rude to Miss—I mean—you should let Miss—finish—" Her eyebrows drew together in confusion and she broke off.

"Lopez," the stunning young Latina blurted out, the color on her face growing even brighter, a difficult feat for her darker complexion. "My name is Santana Lopez."

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><p><strong>AN: Santana's here! ...And let the games begin. ;) **

**Again, I'm sorry for making you guys wait 2 weeks for another chapter, but that's just the way things work sometimes. I'll be back with chapter 6 then! :D I hope you liked this chapter and thanks for reading. :)  
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	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey, guys, I'm back!**

**I want to apologize in advance for how woefully short this chapter is. I wrote it on 3 hours of sleep and considering how long it took to write, I was kind of pissed at myself at how short this is. Next chapter will be longer, I swear. :) I sent this off to my Beta last Friday, but she hasn't gotten back to me, and I really wanted to update this week, so I'm doing it now. So, I'm sorry for any mistakes. I haven't really looked over this in much detail...I hope it's okay!  
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**So, the reviewers!  
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**_Albany_ - Haha, that's what a cliffhanger is supposed to do! Keep you hanging until the sadistic writer feels like telling you what happens next. ;) I hope the wait wasn't too bad? And, I hope you like this chapter! Thanks so much for the review! :D  
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**_adriana_ - D'aw, thanks. *Blushes and looks away bashfully* I hope you like this chapter! :)  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Yes, Santana! She will be here for the long haul now, don't you worry. :) And, you're quite welcome. I couldn't _not_ dedicate it to you with all your awesome reviews and comments about Santana finally coming on the scene. ;) Anyway, thanks, as always for the review, and I hope this chapter isn't too bad! :)  
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**Okay, so, _Glee_. I don't know about you, but I'm having some seriously mixed feelings about these last two episodes. Most of them not so good feelings. I think I'm just cynical? I don't know. I don't want to rant about it because I could seriously go all day lol. But, if you want to talk about it with me, I'm always up for a good _Glee_ discussion. ;)  
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**Yeah, so, I only have one more major paper due, and then finals and grading of finals and essays, and then I'm free for summer! Except, I'm going to be spending my summer in the Florida Keys, working at the diving museum there because I got an internship there! I'm super excited. I don't get paid, but I get a free apartment for the summer, so...that's good. :)  
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**Okay, I'll shut up now. Again, I'm sorry for how short this chapter is, but I hope it's satisfactory for you guys! :D**

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><p>Brittany's breath hitched in her throat and she stared, wide-eyed with astonishment, at the young woman standing before her. She tried to say something, and discovered that she couldn't get a single word out. Santana Lopez. But surely that was the name of Brittney's fiancé!<p>

"Oh—but—" she stammered, feeling a rosy blush warm her cheeks. "Seattle—I thought—"

Impossibly, the flush on Santana Lopez's tan face became a shade darker, and Brittany barely had time to register the fact that she thought that it made the Latina look even lovelier when Santana spoke. "Yes, I know," she said, exactly as if Brittany had uttered a complete sentence anyone could follow. "I apologize for taking you by surprise. But when I received your telegram and realized what train you must be on, I decided to set out to meet you at once. I thought we might make at least a portion of the journey together."

"But I don't understand," Brittany protested, still baffled by the woman's sudden appearance. "Where on earth did you get on?"

"In Leavenworth," Santana answered, staring intently into Brittany's eyes. "I could hardly seek you out then, Miss Bennett. It was the middle of the night. But I've been trying to figure out a way to make your acquaintance all morning. You must agree that we have much to—"

Suddenly, Santana seemed to become aware that there were other people seated at the table, not just Brittany. Her voice faltered, then broke off as she tore her gaze away from Brittany's ocean blue eyes. Brittany was slightly taken aback at the sudden lack of warmth she felt when Santana shifted her eyes to the others at the table, but mentally shook the feeling aside.

Brittany could feel Mrs. Fabray's sharp hazel eyes watching her avidly from across the table. Beside her, Brittney radiated tension as strongly as the stove did heat. However, after her first, quickly cut off impulse to respond to her own name, the other girl had made no movement.

_Oh dear,_ Brittany thought. _I've ruined things already._

Her startled response to Santana Lopez was hardly the most auspicious beginning to her plan to learn more about what kind of person she was. As the silence dragged on, becoming brittle and awkward, every single reason for calling off the masquerade right now seemed to leap straight into Brittany's mind.

_Stop being such a ninny,_ she told herself sternly. _Brittney stood up to Finn's fury. Surely you can deal with Miss Santana Lopez, no matter how captivating you may find her._ The Latina didn't look dangerous at all. In fact, Brittany could not imagine her ever losing her temper, let alone raising her fists against someone in anger.

Finally getting her bearings straight, she turned her attention back to the situation at hand. "Please forgive me, Miss Lopez," she said, with a brilliant smile. "This storm and the delay have made me quite forget my manners. Won't you sit down? Please allow me to introduce my companions. This is Mrs. Fabray, and her daughter Beth."

"How do you do?" Santana greeted promptly, as though pleased to have the strange situation reduced to one where ordinary good manners could simply take over. She moved to the far side of the table and swung her leg over the bench to sit next to Beth. "Perhaps, Beth, you would allow me to sit beside you," she said, smiling down warmly at the young blonde girl.

To Brittany's surprise, Mrs. Fabray began to bluster. "Well, really, I'm afraid I just don't know," she fussed. "We've only just been introduced—a strange young woman—"

"And this is—" Brittany began.

"But she's not a stranger," Brittney's voice suddenly spoke up, drowning out Brittany's. "She's Miss Bennett's fiancé."

"—my good friend, Miss Brittney Pierce."

Santana jerked. Her face, so red and flustered just a few moments before, now turned paler than her tan complexion should allow, almost as pale as the snow outside the cook shack door. Her mouth fell open.

"Oh, but, I was given to understand—" she started.

"That I had no friends?" Brittany finished softly. The warmth she had felt a moment earlier while looking into the Latina's eyes vanished as a wave of ice swept through her.

_Is this the kind of person Santana is?_ she wondered sadly. Did she want Brittney only because she had no friends? No one to interfere on her behalf? No one to come to her aid if she required it?

_Just as I had no one._

The brunette didn't look the type, but then, as Brittany knew to her own cost, appearances could be deceiving. Santana Lopez might look like a simple, straightforward woman, even a compassionate one, but she could still be as much of a swindler as Artie Abrams.

Why had she agreed to marry a total stranger? Brittany wondered. She thought she understood at least a part of how Brittney had come to be engaged, but what were Santana's motives?

Santana shut her mouth with a snap. Her dark chocolate eyes aimed right at Brittany. "I am delighted to learn that Miss Bennett has a good friend with her," she said, her voice quiet. But Brittany could hear the weight in it, feel it in the way her eyes looked into her own so directly. "I had feared that she—that you—were all alone in the world."

A fine tingling radiated from the pit of Brittany's stomach as she felt her heart clench at the Latina's words. _Don't underestimate her,_ she thought, mentally trying to shake off the emotion that had come over her. Santana Lopez may look quiet, but Brittany's guess was that she didn't miss much. Had she understood what Brittany had meant when she had finished the Latina's sentence for her?

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Pierce," she continued now, the tone of her voice softening as she turned toward Brittney. "A friend of Miss Bennett's will always be a friend of mine."

"Thank you," Brittany heard her companion whisper beside her.

"Gracious," Mrs. Fabray said. It was her usual exclamation, but, from across the table, Brittany could see that her eyes were razor sharp and curious. "How funny you all sound! As if you had barely met."

"Actually," Santana began, before Brittany could think of a way to prevent her, "we—"

Brittany was saved by Beth Fabray's enthusiasm for her breakfast.

"Finally!" she shouted jubilantly without warning. "Flapjacks!"

Brittany turned her head. The tall Asian man Sam had introduced earlier as Tina's husband and assistant, Mike, was heading for their table with a steaming platter of flapjacks.

"It's about time," Beth announced as Mike drew closer. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."

Mike's thin dark eyebrows shot up. "Is that so?" he said. He set the platter of flapjacks down in the center of the table, and then plunked down butter and syrup beside them. "By my reckoning, there's about a couple horses' worth in there, at least. That ought to hold you for a while," he said, smiling and winking at the young girl.

"Thank _you_," Beth replied with an enthusiastic smile, her eager fingers already reaching for the fluffy flapjacks.

Mike smiled. "You folks want anything else, you just let us know," he told them, and then headed back in the direction of the kitchen.

"Beth," Mrs. Fabray scolded sharply, catching her daughter's hand in mid-air at the very last second. Beth's fingers wiggled helplessly in her mother's tight grip, the flapjacks mercilessly out of reach. "Mind your manners now."

"But, Mama," Beth protested. She squirmed, trying unsuccessfully to free herself.

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Fabray apologized, her eyes taking the three other adult occupants of the table. "She really is a good girl. It's just that she can be such a handful when my husband's not around.

"Wait your turn, Beth," she went on, tucking her daughter's arm back down into her lap. "Let the young ladies serve themselves first. That is what's polite. And when you reach for your own flapjacks, do it with a fork. Other folks do not want your fingers all over their food."

Beth's bottom lip began to quiver. She looked as though she were about to explode. As quickly as possible, Brittany placed several large flapjacks onto her plate, and then scooted the platter along the table to Brittney. Though how on earth Brittany was going to eat she did not know. Her appetite seemed to have deserted her right along with her wits.

If it hadn't been for Mike Chang's timely appearance with their breakfast, Santana would have revealed to Mrs. Fabray that she and Miss Bennett were barely acquainted, had never even met one another until now, in fact. Information that was bound to arouse interest—and comment.

But Brittany didn't want her fellow passengers to know too many details about the situation between Santana and Brittney. The more interest the girls attracted, the greater the chance that someone would uncover their secret, their deception.

_Pull yourself together, Britt,_ she chastised herself. _Pay attention. Brittney's future happiness may be at stake. You have got to keep your wits about you. And for goodness' sake, stop letting this, admittedly beautiful, woman fluster you. Be confident, like you usually are and focus, for Brittney._

"How old are you, Beth?" she heard Santana ask from across the table.

"Six years old, ma'am," Beth answered in a subdued tone, suddenly a little shy at the adult's attention.

"That's a fine age to be," Santana replied warmly. "Just the right age to start helping your mother. I'm sure she must need your help, especially since your father isn't here."

Brittany paused, a flapjack-filled fork frozen halfway to her mouth. Santana sounded so prim! So proper! Perhaps she wasn't a fraud after all. Perhaps she was merely—

_Boring!_

Startled by her revelation, Brittany set her fork unceremoniously down on her plate with a clunk, her flapjacks momentarily forgotten. The word had slipped into her head so abruptly, so seemingly out of the blue, but she became more convinced that it was true, the longer she thought about it. Not only that, surely it was the perfect solution. Santana Lopez might not be Princess Charming, but she and Brittney could still live happily ever after.

Dull people were not dangerous. They weren't deceivers. How could they be? They lacked the initiative, the necessary impetuosity. Life with one might not be terribly interesting, it was true. But at least it would be safe and secure.

_I don't need to worry about Santana's motivation in agreeing to marry Brittney, _she realized suddenly. _She doesn't have any._ Santana had been content to be led, to be told what to do, probably by her own father, as Brittney had been by hers.

Brittany cast a glance at her friend in order to see if she had come to the same conclusions. However, if she had, Brittney gave no sign. Instead, she was pouring syrup on her flapjacks as if it was the most important act she had ever performed.

But, as she looked more closely, Brittany could see that Brittney's posture had relaxed. She still sat straight, but her spine was no longer as stiff as a board.

_She's relieved_, Brittany observed. _She sees it too._ Already their masquerade was bearing fruit. In fact, it was turning out even better than they could have hoped. They had learned an important piece of information about Santana Lopez's character already. Perhaps the most important piece.

The Latina might be a total stranger, but she wasn't dangerous in the least.

Brittany glanced across the table to where Santana was helping Beth cut up her flapjacks, tamping down on the startling, yet oddly wonderful, warmth that flared in her stomach at the sight. Now more than ever that one lock of hair threatened to spill into her eyes. But with the exception of that, absolutely nothing about Santana looked out of place. She probably didn't have an impulsive bone in her entire body.

Not at all the sort of person Brittany would choose for herself. _Which is a very good thing, _she told herself sternly as she lifted her fork once more, ignoring the pang of sadness that swept over her as she did so. _Because she is never going to be your wife._

She looked over again at Brittney, to discover her friend watching the brunette through carefully lowered lashes.

_Oh, yes. She definitely sees it too,_ Brittany concluded as she surveyed her blonde companion. Not only that, but her friend seemed quite taken by Miss Santana Lopez. _I have to get her alone,_ Brittany thought. _To see if she really agrees. There is no reason to wait until we get to Seattle. We know everything we need to know right now._

As far as Brittany was concerned, the sooner they told Santana the truth, the better.

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><p><strong>AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! And, again, next chapter will be longer. Now that I'm not completely sleep deprived, I've got a more detailed chapter laid out in my little head for next time. ;) **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Guten Tag, meine Leser! Because everybody loves German. :)**

**Anyway, so, my Beta got back to me within a couple hours for this chapter, so I thought, instead of Thursday, I'll update now! I felt bad for the shortness of the last chapter, so I wanted to make it up to you guys. Here's a long one, and only a few days after the last chapter was posted, so yay. :)  
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**Reviewers:  
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**_T_ - Um, thanks for the 'Boo!'? I'm sorry that chapter was short, and well, I hope you like this chapter. :)  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Aw, you always say the nicest things. *blushes* ;) Ooh, yes, it's not going to be all rainbows and sunshine all the time for our female leads. Thanks for the review! And I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D  
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**Oh! Have you guys seen the movie _Kyss Mig_ (Obviously, the English version of the title is _Kiss Me_)? It's Swedish, and it's about these two women, one's about to get married, and the other is an out lesbian, who fall in love. It's sooo freaking good! Europeans make the _best_ lesbian-themed movies, I don't care what anyone says. Anyway, well, I watched it online this weekend (it's not for sale on DVD anywhere online yet, for the US, sadly.), and it really is amazing. It says _so much_ with so few words. Anyway, I heartily recommend it to everyone. Everyone legal, anyway, since this movie has some...kind of explicit sexual material in it and is thus rated R. Can't be soliciting R-rated movies to those underage, you know - don't want to be arrested and all that. ;) Oh! There's a Brittana fanfiction based on the movie (it's completely different from the movie, but the author based it on the movie trailer) called _I was yours from the moment I met you_. It is also good. Lighter than the movie, certainly, but it's a very nice read, if you would find yourself so inclined to check it out sometime. :)  
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**Random fact of the day: I like to hold conversations with myself in different English accents (or Russian, but English is easier), imitating people's voices from TV or movies that I've heard (Native British people would probably cringe at the inaccuracies, but I still think it's fun). My mom says I spend too much time by myself. I say that I would thrive in solitary confinement in prison. ;)  
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**Okay, that's enough out of me. Enjoy!**

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><p>But all that day, getting Brittney alone proved impossible.<p>

The snowstorm continued without abating. The train sat at Cascade. As they returned to the train after breakfast, Brittany learned that, sometime during the night, a mail train had pulled in behind them.

This was the famed #27, Sam told her as he greeted her upon her return to the sleeping car—the fast mail. Usually nothing stopped the mail from getting through because Ms. Sylvester had sworn that nothing would. She had deadlines to meet, and nothing interfered with the schedules she set, not even the weather.

However, this storm had defeated even the Empire Builder. Like the passenger train ahead of it, the mail train, too, sat motionless in the railyard at Cascade, paralyzed by the storm. Not until word came that the tracks ahead were clear would the two trains be allowed to move forward.

But hours passed, and no word came.

To Brittany's relief, the sleeping cars were sparsely populated, occupied mostly by the elderly, women, and children. Most of the men passed the time in the observation car, or "smoker," helping the car live up to its name. Every time one of them came forward to his regular seat, he seemed to bring with him the smell of tobacco.

It made Mrs. Fabray wrinkle her nose in disgust, a thing she did so often that Brittany began to be convinced the other woman's nose would simply stay that way.

The air of the sleeper was close and hot, the coal stove stoked constantly to keep the temperature in the car as comfortable as possible. Yet the scent of cigar smoke seemed to linger in the air, even in the cars nowhere near the smoker, clinging to the gentlemen's garments as they passed through the aisles.

"They drink alcohol back there, too, you know," Mrs. Fabray had confided in a low voice to the other three women. "_And_ they play cards, or so I hear. Mr. Fabray never visits the smoker when we travel together. He stays right by my side."

As she spoke, she had looked approvingly at Santana, who was seated next to Brittany. Even though Santana was a woman and so would not be permitted in the smoker even if she wanted to visit the car, apparently her presence next to her fiancé was a testament to her moral character in Mrs. Fabray's eyes. Santana had not left Brittany's side since their meeting at breakfast. Instead, she had returned with Brittany and Brittney to the Winnipeg. She, herself, had a berth on the Similkameen, she had told them, the sleeper just one car back.

Mrs. Fabray had nodded her head in approval when Santana had informed them of the arrangement. It was clear that she thought that Santana had done what was proper, refusing to so much as bed down in the same sleeping car as her fiancé.

Equally clear was the fact that, while suspicious at first, Mrs. Fabray had quickly been won over by Santana. Brittany even thought that she could pinpoint the exact moment when the other woman's opinion had changed. Santana had won Mrs. Fabray's heart in the time it had taken the Latina to cut up her daughter's flapjacks.

As far as Brittany was concerned, Mrs. Fabray's approval was the final seal to her own observations. If Mrs. Fabray approved of the brunette, then surely Santana Lopez must be safe. But so far, Brittany had been unable to accomplish her goal of determining whether her observations agreed with Brittney's, and if her friend agreed that they should end their masquerade.

Brittany sighed now, tapping one foot impatiently against the train's wooden floor, wishing she could come up with some subtle way of attracting Brittney's attention. Could she accidentally swing her foot too far and kick her, and then apologize and insist that they go to the washroom to make sure she hadn't caused any injury to the other girl?

_Oh, that's an excellent plan, Britt,_ she thought to herself sardonically. _Remarkably subtle. No one would notice a thing._ Even Rebecca would have seen through a tactic like that. Beside her, Brittany heard Santana clear her throat. The Latina leaned forward just a little, as if about to say something.

_Perhaps she will talk to Brittney,_ Brittany thought, although she knew that it was she, herself, who should be making conversation.

The trouble was, she couldn't have the kind of conversation she wanted with Mrs. Fabray present. If she started asking Santana questions about her life in Seattle, the older woman would realize that Miss Bennett and her fiancé barely knew one another. An arranged marriage might not be all that unusual, but Brittany was still reluctant to do anything which could possibly attract added attention to herself or Brittney, and she had a sinking feeling that anything Mrs. Fabray knew would soon be known all over the train.

Santana leaned back and Brittany sighed again, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and turned her attention to the transformed Winnipeg. During the time the passengers had spent at breakfast, the porters had been busy, once again returning the sleeping cars to their daytime configuration.

The upper berths were pushed up out of sight. Brittany knew from watching Sam stow Beth Fabray's berth that the bedding for each set of berths would be neatly folded up and stored inside the upper one.

In their stowed position, the berths were completely invisible, having been carefully designed to form part of the elegant decoration of the train. Their outer surfaces were covered by finely decorated, glossy wood paneling. Brittany never would have suspected their existence if she had not already known they were there.

The pull-out platforms that turned the seats into the lower berths had all been pushed back out of sight. The plush, high backed seats once more simply faced one another. The green baize privacy curtains were looped up out of the way. The car looked exactly like it was set for a day excursion of a few hours.

The only problem was that they were not actually going anywhere.

Brittany uncrossed her arms and crossed her ankles. The foot that rested on the floor continued its steady tap, tap, tap. Brittany's thoughts pounded in time to the rhythm. In the seat opposite, Mrs. Fabray finally broke the silence by beginning an anecdote about the weather.

How on earth could she get rid of Santana and Mrs. Fabray? Brittany wondered. All she needed was a moment. Just one moment to speak to Brittney and end the deception. However, both of the other people seemed attached to her like sealing wax. Santana by what Brittany was sure was a sense of duty, and Mrs. Fabray because she was curious.

It was true that the older woman had left for a few moments shortly after breakfast to wipe Beth's sticky fingers and face. But after giving permission for Beth to play with a girl her age from the other sleeping car, she had rejoined their party almost right away.

Not before Brittany had caught a glimpse of her speaking with Sam, however, glancing furtively back at Brittany and Brittney as she did so, a fact that made Brittany's stomach plummet in dismay. Either Mrs. Fabray was discussing the fact that there seemed to be two young women apparently named Brittany, or she was telling Sam that Miss Bennett and Miss Lopez were engaged. Either way, it could only spell trouble.

If other passengers learned of "her" engagement, Brittany and her partner in crime would lose their opportunity to quickly and easily end their masquerade. Explaining the situation to Mrs. Fabray would be difficult enough—but it would be preferable for it to be her alone than the whole train.

_Think, think, think_, Brittany told herself in time to the tapping of her foot. Mrs. Fabray finished her tale about the weather and launched into one about one of Beth's escapades. But, for the first time since she could remember, Brittany's headstrong nature refused to work for her. Her brain seemed frozen, unable to find a way out of the current situation. Her impetuosity had failed, thwarted by Mrs. Fabray's avid curiosity and Santana Lopez's good manners.

_And her good looks,_ Brittany found herself thinking. Despite being startled by that thought, Brittany was unable to resist glancing sidelong at the stunning woman seated beside her for the briefest of moments, and once again was mesmerized by her beauty. _Stop it, Britt! Focus,_ Brittany chastised herself, trying to shake off the effect her "fiancé" had on her. Now was not the time to admire the Latina's almost overwhelming appearance. She had to think about how to get an audience alone with her blonde friend.

Brittany uncrossed her ankles and planted both feet firmly on the floor. It was time to face facts. The person who was thwarting her most soundly was the person she wanted most to help: Brittney. And for one simple reason. The other blonde had not looked at Brittany since they had reboarded the Winnipeg.

She couldn't take her eyes off of Santana Lopez.

All morning, Brittney had sat beside Mrs. Fabray on the seat facing Brittany, watching Santana from carefully lowered eyelashes. If the brunette had noticed the attention she was receiving from her fiancé's friend Miss Pierce, she had been too polite to show it. But, as the hours of the morning had dragged on, Brittany had thought that she could feel a change in the Latina as she sat beside her, like a watch slowly being wound tight enough to break the spring.

Santana Lopez wasn't as calm as she appeared. Her wishes, too, were being spoiled by the morning. Brittany almost laughed aloud when she realized the ironic truth. The whole time she had been hoping for a moment alone with Brittney, Santana had been hoping for a moment alone with _her_!

What had she said at their first meeting that morning? "You must agree we have much to—" _Discuss?_ Had that been what Santana had been about to say?

Mrs. Fabray reached the climax of her story. "Can you imagine that?" she said.

_Oh, yes, I can,_ Brittany thought, though she hadn't heard a single word Mrs. Fabray had said. However, she could all too clearly imagine a moment alone with Santana Lopez.

A moment in which she would no doubt wish to begin discussing their upcoming marriage. A moment Brittany was positive she could not let happen. Until she had spoken with Brittney, under no circumstances could Brittany allow herself to be alone with "her" fiancé. And it had nothing to do with how attractive she found the Latina. Not at all.

"Lunch time. Lunch is ready, folks," Sam announced without warning. Brittany started, and then got swiftly to her feet. Was the morning really gone already? Still she was so grateful for the distraction that she almost hugged the porter. After the tense morning on the train, even the cold walk to the cook shack seemed a welcome distraction.

By unspoken consent, passengers occupied the same tables they had for breakfast that morning. But no sooner had Brittany sat down to eat than she discovered eating was completely out of the question.

Sitting beside Santana had been uncomfortable enough, but now the brunette was once more opposite her, where her intense brown eyes could look into hers at any time. Brittany was sure her dark eyes would be full of questions. Abruptly, she found that she couldn't eat a thing. She did her best to cover it up, arranging and rearranging the food on her plate, listening to Beth prattle on about her morning.

She thought that she had done a pretty good job of covering up her discomfort until Santana spoke. "Are you well, Britt?" she asked during a pause in the conversation, concern evident in her husky voice. "Do you not care for the stew? Shall I ask the cook if they have something else?"

"No, thank you," Brittany replied, realizing that the truth was that she felt worn out completely. Why was handling Santana Lopez so difficult when it ought to have been so easy? _Make up an excuse_, she ordered herself silently. _Pretend you're back with Finn and Rebecca._

"It's just my head, that's all," she said, touching her temple, inspired by the excuse Rebecca had always used to get her way. "It aches."

At once, Santana rose to her feet, her own lunch forgotten. "Perhaps a moment of quiet while most of the other passengers are at lunch would ease your pain," she suggested kindly, almost eagerly. "Please, allow me to escort you back to the train."

_Oh, no you don't,_ Brittany thought, and then was surprised to find herself suppressing a sigh as Santana came around the table and helped her gently to her feet. It was exactly the kind of suggestion she should have expected of the Latina, she thought. Thoughtful, but uninventive.

Why not a brisk walk and a tour of the Cascade railyard? she wondered, as she felt the brunette's hand against her back, in case she was feeling faint, no doubt, and needed to be steadied. Why not a sudden headlong plunge into a snowbank? Why not a shock, an adventure, not a rest, to cure her headache?

Santana's head was tilted up towards hers, her deep eyes searching Brittany's face. As always, that one errant lock of hair tumbled over the Latina's forehead.

Without warning Brittany realized that she had forgotten the rest of the occupants of the table, including Brittney. All she was doing was staring at Santana, struggling with the impulse to do something, anything daring.

_What would it take to shock her?_ Brittany wondered. _To stir her? To make her midnight eyes kindle, then burst into flame? What would it take to make her body tremble against mine?_

_I could tell her the truth,_ she thought. _That ought to do it._ But then she would lose her chance. Her chance to know what the Latina's hair felt like as she brushed it from her forehead. Still lost in the brunette's gaze, Brittany felt her right arm lift, as if it had a mind of its own, inching ever closer to that inviting lock of dark hair lying precariously across the tan forehead.

"Miss Bennett?" she heard Santana inquire softly, her tone puzzled. "Are you ill? Shall I summon aid?"

"No, of course not," Brittany said, the sound of Brittney's name acting like a bath of cold water. What on earth had she been about to do? What had she been thinking? The close air of the train car and the cook shack must be affecting her more than she realized. That must be it.

She didn't care about Santana Lopez. She was right for Brittney Bennett—the real Brittney Bennett—not for the real Brittany Pierce.

"I think you must be right," Brittany said. "If I could just return to the train to lie down—but—perhaps—Miss Pierce—"

Brittany broke off, turning to look over her shoulder to where Brittney was still seated at the table. Here, finally, was the opportunity Brittany had waited all morning for: the chance for the two young women to be alone together. Now if only Brittney took the hint.

"I'll walk her back," Brittney offered. She rose, not looking at Brittany. Her face was pale, Brittany noticed, as though she was the one who had claimed the headache. Brittany realized suddenly that she had been standing with her back to Brittney, but the shorter blonde had had a clear view of Santana's worried face.

_But she isn't really worried about _me, _Brittney,_ she thought, hoping her friend would understand. _Only about the woman she thinks is her fiancé._

"Well, if you're sure," Santana said, clearly hesitant to leave Brittany's side.

"Of course," Brittany answered. "Brittney can get me settled, and then come back to finish lunch."

_Finally_, Brittany thought. Her impulsiveness seemed to be working once again. She and Brittney could have their chat on the way back to the train. Then Brittney could come back to Santana and ask for a moment alone with her. She could tell the brunette the truth. She would be shocked, perhaps put out, but she would soon recover. After all, it wasn't as if she had really gotten to know them well. Santana was probably like everyone else, practically unable to tell one girl from the other.

"Thank you. I would appreciate that, Miss Pierce," Santana answered sincerely. She smiled warmly and Brittney flushed at the attention. Then Santana stepped back, so that the two girls made a bracket on either side of her. Brittany and her friend were just turning to go when a tiny woman in an enormous woolen shawl bustled over to them.

"Oh, good, I haven't missed you," she said, her tone breathless. "I know you'll think it terribly forward of me, seeing as how we haven't been properly introduced, but I just couldn't help myself. What a romantic story. Getting on the train in the middle of the night. I just had to come over and offer my congratulations."

_No!_ Brittany's thoughts screamed. _No, no, _no.

Suddenly, the woman broke off, her eyes darting between Brittany and Brittney. "Well, I never!" she exclaimed, the fringe on her shawl quivering. She sounded so exactly like Mrs. Fabray that Brittany battled a wild impulse to laugh, in spite of the fact that she didn't find the situation the least bit funny.

"Gracious," the woman went on, continuing her imitation perfectly, "however do you tell them apart?"

Santana looked at the two blondes standing on either side of her, an expression in her eyes that Brittany couldn't quite read. She stood so close that Brittany could feel the sudden ripple that passed through her body. _What was the saying?_ she wondered. _As if somebody had walked across her grave._

"Oh, but how silly of me," the tiny woman said, just as Brittany felt Santana pull in a breath to speak. "As if you wouldn't recognize your own fiancé. The heart always knows its choice, doesn't it? Which one is she?"

Once more, Brittany felt Santana's hand, warm against the small of her back. The Latina's voice was perfectly steady as she answered, "This is Miss Bennett, my fiancé. And this is her good friend, Miss Pierce. Thank you for your congratulations."

"Yes, thank you," Brittany forced herself to say. On the other side of Santana, Brittney stood without making a sound, her blush long since faded.

_Well,_ Brittany thought despondently. _That's that._ And realized that the excuse she had offered just a few moments before had suddenly come true. From one ear to the other, her head ached.

* * *

><p>"We never should have done this," Brittney said frantically. "It was a mistake."<p>

The two girls were making their way back to the train, finally escaping from the cook shack after Brittany and Santana had accepted half a dozen more congratulations. It seemed that the whole train knew of their engagement, and of the romantic way Santana had set off to meet her.

There was no way to tell the brunette the truth now, not when revealing it would humiliate her in front of so many people. Not to mention the disastrous effect it would have on both Brittany and Brittney's own reputations.

There was no help for it. The masquerade would simply have to continue all the way to Seattle. Though how long it would be before they reached it, neither girl knew. The trains hadn't moved so much as an inch since arriving in Cascade.

Brittney marched through the snow, moving as quickly as she could through the deep drifts, her wide, forceful steps betraying her inner agitation. Brittany was glad that their fellow passengers were in the cook shack or on the train. Anyone observing them would be able to tell at once that something was wrong.

"We should have told her the truth," Brittney said. Brittany brushed snow from her face, and took a firm hold of her temper. It was still snowing, but the snow was different now. The flakes were larger, wetter, sticking to everything in sight.

To help measure just how much snow was coming down, Judge Schuester, the man who had promised to speak up for the conductor if Finn complained about him, had thrust his walking stick into the snow at the base of the snowbank. He had gone out at regular intervals to check the snow's steady progress up the stick. An accumulation of snow as wide as his hand had fallen during the morning.

"I never should have let you talk me into this," Brittney said accusingly.

Without warning, Brittany turned her foot. She lost her balance and her temper all at the same time, leaning to one side and sitting down abruptly.

"Will you stop blaming me?" she snapped. "I didn't talk you into anything and you know it, Brittney. You agreed it was a good plan. I gave you the chance to back out first thing this morning, and you didn't take it. So stop trying to make what's happened my fault."

Brittney whirled to face her. "Don't you dare yell at me!" she shouted. "Papa used to do that. After he died, I swore—I—"

She broke off, breathing hard. Through the thick, while flakes of snow, the two girls stared at one another. _So that's it,_ Brittany thought. She forgot that she was sitting in the snow, her skirts getting wetter by the second. She even forgot about Santana Lopez. She forgot everything but the horrified, haunted look in Brittney's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Brittany said softly. "I didn't know."

Brittney made a strangled sound. "Oh, Britt," she said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it." She hurried forward and helped the taller blonde to her feet. "You're all wet again," she added.

Brittany felt a bubble of laughter rise up and escape before she could stop it. "Actually," she said, "I'm beginning to think it's my natural condition. But being cold and wet does seem to have made my headache go away."

"Well, at least that's something."

The two girls stood, staring at one another. "We really are in a mess, aren't we?" Brittany said after a moment. "I tried to think of a way to get your attention all morning, but—"

Brittney lifted her hands. "Don't tell me, I know," she broke in with an embarrassed chuckle. "All I did was stare at Santana. I couldn't believe it when Sam came to tell us it was time for lunch. The whole morning had gone by, and I had never even noticed. You must have been so annoyed with me—I wouldn't have seen you if you had been standing on your head."

"Don't think I didn't consider it," Brittany answered, laughing. "Though I admit that was after I considered kicking you in the shins."

Brittney smiled. "And then that woman with the shawl," she said. "I thought that fringe had taken on a life of its own—and then I thought we'd never get out the door: 'Ooh Miss Bennett,'" she went on, her voice rising to a sing-song, " 'such a lovely story—sooo romantic!"

"Stop!" Brittany protested, as both girls dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter. They leaned on each other, gasping for breath in the snow. As their laughter died down, Brittney's expression sobered. She reached to brush the snow from her friend's head. On the far side of the snowbank that bordered the tracks, Brittany could hear the hiss of the steam engine, stoked to keep the power in the cars going, but other than that, the whole world seemed still.

"She's a good person, isn't she?" Brittney asked.

Brittany laid both hands on the other girl's shoulders. "Yes, she is," she said, looking into Brittney's winter blue eyes. "We'll find a way to make this all work out."

Brittney's lips lifted in a faltering smile. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," Brittany said reassuringly. "Santana isn't like my stepbrother—or your father."

Brittney's face crumpled as if she was about to cry. "I'm sorry. But I don't think I can talk about that," she said, her voice quivering.

Brittany hesitated, torn between the desire to honor her friend's wishes, and the desire to know the truth. "But that's why you wanted to know about Santana, wasn't it?" she persevered. "To make sure she wouldn't treat you like your father did?"

Silently, Brittney nodded her head, averting her eyes. Then she turned and began to walk back toward the train. Brittany fell into step beside her. But something in the other girl's posture caught Brittany's attention. Brittney was holding herself as stiff as a board once more. The realization struck Brittany with such force she stopped dead in her tracks.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "He hurt you, didn't he?"

Brittney stopped also, though she kept her face turned away. Brittany could see the muscles in Brittney's neck work as she swallowed convulsively, trying to answer.

"Not very often," she finally admitted in a small voice. "Mostly, he just shouted, morning, noon, and night. According to Papa, everything was my fault, including the fact that my mother left us. If I'd been a good girl, she would have stayed, he said. I don't think I was ever the kind of daughter that he wanted."

"But that's ridiculous," Brittany objected fervently. "Your mother probably left because she wanted to get away from him. It's likely that he bullied her, too."

Brittney nodded mutely. Though neither girl could bring themselves to voice the thought that hovered in the air around them: surely Brittney's mother should have taken her with her when she departed. She never should have left her with a man like Brittney's father.

"Actually, I don't think he wanted a daughter at all," Brittney went on after a moment. "I'm sure he wanted a son. He told me so often enough. He said I was weak and needed someone strong to 'guide' me. So when he said that he had arranged for me to marry the daughter of his oldest friend, all I could think of was that he was finally going to get someone to control me like he always wanted."

"By choosing someone just like him," Brittany filled in, making a sudden connection.

Again, Brittney nodded dejectedly. "And then he made me promise to go through with it," she choked out. Now that she had started, the words seemed to pour out of her like water from a breached dam.

"He told me he was dying, and then he made me swear to marry Santana Lopez. He knew I'd never go back on a deathbed promise. But I _had_ to know what Santana was like before I married her, Britt. I just had to. How could I live the rest of my life with someone just like my father?"

The situation the shorter girl described made Brittany shiver with a cold that had nothing to do with the snow around them. It was so close, so terrifyingly close to what had happened to her. Thomas Pierce wasn't like Brittney's father, it was true. But Finn was. Of that, Brittany had absolutely no doubt.

_No wonder Brittney recognized a kindred spirit when she saw my desperation,_ Brittany thought. No wonder the other girl had helped her.

"What would you have done if Santana hadn't been different?" she couldn't help asking. "If she had turned out to be a bully like my stepbrother and your father?"

Brittney shook her head, her face exhausted. "I honestly don't know," she said. "I'd like to think I would have been as brave as you were, that I would have run away. But I don't know if I ever would have found the courage. I've never been very adventurous, not like you."

"Well, I think that you're more than making up for it now," Brittany said, trying to lighten the mood. She linked her arm through Brittney's and urged her forward. It was time to get back in side. All of a sudden, Brittany felt chilled to the bone. Though whether it was the weather or the revelations about what Brittney's life had been like, she wasn't certain.

They rounded the opening in the snowbank and started toward the Winnipeg.

"I just wish I knew how it would end," Brittney burst out abruptly.

_So do I, _Brittany thought. But she didn't say it aloud. Instead, she did her best to keep Brittney's flagging spirits up.

"Gracious, Miss Pierce!" she exclaimed, trying for an imitation of Mrs. Fabray. "Don't you know? We're going to live happily ever after. Both of us."

Brittney's lips lifted in a smile that showed she appreciated Brittany's effort, even if she wasn't quite ready to believe it.

"If you say so," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: And there it is. The blondes can't switch back quietly, and there seems to be a love-triangle going on already, even if Brittany doesn't want to admit it. My, oh, my, what is going to happen next? Well, you'll just have to wait until next week to find out *snickers* ;) I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! :D**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hey, guys!**

**My apologies for the delay. The semester is over, _finally_, so yay! More time for reading and writing :) **

**This chapter is dedicated to _imjustagirl2004_. I know, it's no Naya, but at least this is some sort of award for your awesomeness. Better than nothing...right? :)  
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**Response to reviewer:  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Aw, well, thank you! :) Now I'm nervous that the rest of this will suck, lol. I hope it continues to be good! :) Thanks again and I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**I don't feel like boring whoever actually reads these A/N's with my random ramblings today, so without further ado, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

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><p>"Miss Bennett, watch out!"<p>

Snow filled Brittany's mouth, stung against her eyes, spilled down inside her coat collar. She reached to wipe it from her face, and found herself staring at half a dozen sets of enormous eyes, some already filled with frightened tears.

In an attempt to relieve the mothers on the train, as well as raise her own spirits, Brittany had taken the older children outdoors for a snowball fight during a break in the weather. But she had been distracted by the sight of a strange train moving along one of the side tracks, shooting huge arcs of snow up into the air on both sides of it. In fact, she was so distracted that she had taken a direct snowball hit to the face, launched by the girl who had spent the morning playing with Beth Fabray.

Brittany threw her head back and roared with laughter.

"Good hit, Abby!" At once the children hurled themselves upon her, clinging to her skirts and laughing in relief.

"All right, that's enough for now," a voice from the break in the snowbank said. It was Rachel Puckerman, Abby's mother. Over one arm, she carried a basket with her infant son, Isaac.

"You are an awfully good sport, Miss Bennett," Rachel said, stepping through the break in the snowbank and waving the children over to her. Abby Puckerman dashed to her mother's skirts and held on tight, claiming Rachel for her own.

Brittany had liked Rachel Puckerman on sight. She was plainly busy keeping up with her family, but her warm brown eyes were filled with good humor. Her husband, Noah, was a large, muscular man with thick, dark hair like his wife, but his eyes were a more golden brown than Rachel's, a trait which he passed on to Abby.

"It was an awfully good hit," Brittany admitted, giving Abby a quick wink. She ducked behind her mother's back, not certain what to make of so much grown up attention for a thing she had been so sure had been going to get her into serious trouble.

Rachel smiled warmly at the exchange. "You can thank my husband for that. He's always out teaching Abigail how to throw or kick a ball. Such a sportsman – he's determined Abby and Isaac will be the same. And from the looks of it, he may be right," Rachel laughed as she took a closer look at Brittany. "You know, you should come in, too," Rachel told Brittany with a chuckle, as Isaac began to wail from the depths of his basket. "You're as wet as they are."

Brittany grinned. "Just a few more minutes, please, Mother."

Rachel put her hands on her hips, and then slowly began to shake her head, her grin as wide as Brittany's. "You're as bad as they are, Britt Bennett."

But she didn't press Brittany any further. Instead, she ushered the children back toward the sleeping cars with promises of dry clothes and a story. Left alone, Brittany drifted closer to the passing track. She stood, her breath hanging in the air around her, watching the strange train at work, savoring her first real moment alone, her first real taste of independence.

"It's called a rotary," said a new voice.

Brittany started at the sound, and then turned to find Santana standing beside her. Brittany had been so engrossed in watching the snowplow work, she hadn't heard the Latina approach.

A strange feeling swept her, part dread, part relief, part simple curiosity. Her impulsive decision to play with the children had accomplished the very thing she had been avoiding all day: a moment alone with Santana Lopez. Brittany told herself that she ought to go back to the train, but the truth was that she didn't want to. It was beginning to feel too much like running.

"I never thought about how they kept the tracks clear before," Brittany said, turning back to watch the rotary. "That's what makes the snowbanks on either side of the tracks, isn't it?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Santana nod. "Each time the tracks are cleared the banks grow higher," she answered. "The trouble is, when they get too high, they start to fall over. That creates a problem all its own."

Intrigued, Brittany turned to face the shorter woman. "How come you know so much?"

Surprise flickered across Santana's face. One dark eyebrow quirked up, disappearing into that errant lock of hair. "I work for the railroad, for the Superintendent, Mr. Harold Figgins. Didn't you know that?"

Brittany felt her face flush. If Brittney had known this, she had said nothing. "No," she replied. "I didn't. I didn't even know women _could_ work for the Superintendent of the railroad."

Santana looked back over to the snowbank for a second before smiling wryly and letting out a huff of dry laughter. "No, you're right about that. At least, women usually can't. It helps that my father was close friends with Superintendent Figgins and had worked with him for years." Then Santana fell silent for a moment, her dark eyes gazing intently into Brittany's ocean blue ones. "You really don't know anything about me, do you?" the brunette asked at last with a rueful smile.

Brittany felt her heart begin to pound at the base of her throat. She had been afraid of what those brown eyes would see if they looked at her too closely, and now she was alone with them.

"No," Brittany had no choice but to answer once again. But at least this time she knew it was the truth. Brittney Bennett knew next to nothing about Santana Lopez. Brittany Pierce would not be standing in the snow with the Latina if she had.

"I'm sure—my—father—" Brittany stumbled just a little over the words, and then recovered. "I'm sure my father meant to tell me more, but he died before he could."

"But not before you gave your promise to marry me," Santana pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone.

Not able to bear looking at the other woman any longer, Brittany turned back to watch the rotary. "No," she said for the third and final time. "Not before that." For a moment, the only sound was the roar of the snowplow at work.

"He was dying," Brittany blurted out, suddenly compelled to offer some sort of explanation. "I had to do what he asked. There is nothing more sacred than a deathbed promise."

"Do you really think so?" Santana asked, still looking at Brittany. "I would have thought a deathbed promise could be a dangerous thing, a final chance for one person to bend another to his will."

"Or a final chance to right an old wrong," Brittany added. _Couldn't this be the reason Brittney's father had demanded her promise to marry Santana?_ she wondered._ Wasn't it possible that, at the very end of his life, he had wanted to do right by his daughter?_

"Yes," Santana slowly agreed after a minute. "I suppose it could be for that."

Brittany waited until she felt the weight of the dark-eyed gaze lift off of her, telling her that the other woman was staring at the rotary once again, before she spoke.

"Would you rather not marry me?" she asked.

Lightning quick, Santana turned back toward her. "I didn't say that."

"But you don't really know me, either, do you?" Brittany prompted, gathering her courage to face the brunette woman. "You promised to marry a total stranger, just as I did.

"I suppose it happens all the time," she went on when Santana didn't speak, "and I just never thought about it. And I can see why a woman such as myself might agree to such a plan. I have so few choices. But, you…You are so independent and have so much more freedom. Did you not wish to choose a wife for yourself?"

Santana stayed silent, her eyes ranging across Brittany's pale face as though searching for some feature only the blonde could possess. "Perhaps," she said at last. "However, just as you did, I made a promise."

And she would never go back on her word, Brittany realized suddenly. She wouldn't rearrange a situation to suit her, as Finn Hudson had. Santana Lopez was an honest person. _And what am I doing? Deceiving her._ Brittany felt sick to her stomach. She needed to get away from Santana, and quickly.

"I'm cold," she said abruptly. While they had been standing outside talking, the sun had disappeared below the tops of the mountains.

"Then we should go back," Santana said at once. "I've already kept you talking much longer than I should have."

"I'm a woman, not a child, you know, Santana," Brittany said, irked by the Latina's assumption that it was up to her to know what was best for her and act upon it. "I can make my own decisions."

Santana's eyes glinted with some emotion Brittany couldn't quite identify. "I stand corrected," Santana said gravely. "In that case, Miss Bennett, perhaps you would allow me to ask you a question."

Brittany raised her eyebrows to show that she was waiting.

"Would _you_ rather not be engaged to _me?_"

Brittany felt the whole world narrow to the space between them, as wide as the earth, yet no more than a single step. _Tell her,_ she ordered herself. _Do what she would do, the honorable thing. Do what's right._

Instead, she stared deeply into Santana's warm brown eyes and said, "I'm sure Miss Bennett would like very much to marry you, Miss Lopez."

Then she took the Latina's arm and walked the rest of the way back to the train in silence.

* * *

><p>"Just one more!" Mr. Puckerman called out. "A dance for the sweethearts!"<p>

At the far end of the sleeping car, Brittany spun around. She could feel her cheeks flush with sudden heat. Standing beside her with the baby in her arms, Rachel laughed.

"Now, look what you've done, Noah," she chastised her husband at the other end of the car. "You've embarrassed Britt."

"I'm supposed to embarrass her. She's about to be a bride," Noah retorted jovially. He put the bow of his fiddle against the strings and played a few impish notes. "Come on, now," he teased. "I see how coy you've been, Miss Bennett, getting all the youngsters to dance in their elders' garments. But it's your turn now. It's no use protesting because I won't put this fiddle away until I've seen you and Miss Lopez dance together."

"A dance! A dance for the happy couple!" a variety of voices called out. Brittany was sure she recognized the voice of Mrs. Fabray chief among them. Her cheeks still bright red, her eyes sought out Santana where she stood beside Noah Puckerman at the other end of the car. Surely she didn't want this to happen either, did she?

Brittany hadn't spoken to the Latina since their late afternoon conversation. To her relief, it had been easy to avoid the shorter woman. Not long after the two of them had returned to the train, Santana had joined the rail crews digging out the wheels so that the passenger train could pull forward and allow the mail train to roll into position at the giant water tank that sat near the entrance to the tunnel.

Staring at the workers from the windows of the train, Brittany thought that she had never seen such backbreaking work. Each wheel of both trains had to be freed from the snow before the trains could move so much as an inch. All afternoon, the air had been filled with the clang of shovels slicing through the snow. It had been almost dark by the time the crews had finished, and the passenger train had been run into the eastern portal of the tunnel while the mail train took on water.

Brittany had been glad when the train had once more been backed up into its original position in the railyard. She hadn't liked sitting in the tunnel. The dark outside the windows seemed unnatural, and Mrs. Fabray had shared the news that she had overheard Sam say that they could all be overcome by the fumes coming from the engine if they stayed inside the tunnel too long.

By the time the trains were moved back into their original positions, word had spread through the cars that they wouldn't be moving on that night, but instead would spend once more night at Cascade and proceed through the tunnel the next morning.

That news was discouraging enough, but the realization that accompanied it was even worse. With the coming of nightfall, the storm had returned. Once more, it was snowing.

It had actually been Brittney who had asked Mr. Puckerman to play his fiddle after supper, remarking that it was such a cheerful sound. Surely a little fiddle playing would help restore people's spirits. But it was Brittany who had the brainstorm of enlisting the children to play dress up.

With a collection of shawls and hats from the ladies, and hats and neckties from the men, Brittany and Brittney had adorned the children in their elders' garments, and then set them dancing down the aisle. Adults and children alike had enjoyed the sight, but it did not take long for the young people to become tired. All around her, Brittany could feel the spirits of her fellow passengers begin to sag, like wet clothes on the line. But she had never expected that she might be pressed into service more directly to help keep people's spirits up.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy dancing or wasn't good at it—quite the opposite, in fact. She loved the freeing feeling she always got when she danced. No, the problem wasn't the dancing. The problem was her dance partner. She didn't think she could handle being so close to Santana during such an intimate act as dancing.

"Come on, Miss Lopez," Mr. Puckerman coaxed. "Don't be shy. You have to put your arms around her sometime. You don't want to wait until after you're married do you?"

A burst of laughter swept the sleeping car as Santana's cheeks flushed a deep red in response.

"Noah," Rachel said sternly as the laughter died down. "That's enough now." In reply, her husband played a series of descending notes that made it sound as though he were crying. Again, the passengers of the Winnipeg laughed in delight. Standing beside her, Brittany heard Brittney laugh along with them, the sound unnatural and high.

Brittany was just beginning to hope that she was off the hook since Noah Puckerman was doing such a fine job of entertaining people all by himself, when Santana stepped forward from her position at Mr. Puckerman's side. She curtsied, and then stood up straight and extended her hand, her eyes meeting Brittany's down the length of the aisle.

"Would you do me the honor, Miss Bennett?"

If she could have, Rachel Puckerman would have clapped her hands in glee. "Oh, well done, Santana," she said with a bright smile. "You'll have to go now, Britt," she teased the tall blonde gently. "There's not a woman alive who can turn that invitation down."

_Well, I'm certainly alive_, Brittany thought sardonically. Though, she was beginning to think better of it. Wouldn't it be better if the earth simply opened up and swallowed her whole?

_I guess there's no help for it_, she thought as she sighed almost inaudibly. But she was careful to avoid looking at Brittney as she moved forward. Slowly, Brittany walked down the aisle until she reached Santana, and then sank into her best imitation of the curtsy Rebecca reserved for her most important guests.

"Miss Lopez," she said. "It would be my pleasure."

A whisper of approval from the ladies swept through the Winnipeg.

"That's the spirit!" Noah Puckerman cried. He played a swift ascending scale, and then launched into a dance tune, the notes running like honey, sweet and slow.

_There _is _no help for it_, Brittany thought. She was going to have to go through with this. She stepped forward and felt herself instantly surrounded by Santana's arms.

The aisle of the Winnipeg was wide enough to walk down comfortably, but just barely wide enough for two people to dance down. Within seconds, Brittany realized what dancing under these conditions really meant.

Unlike a ballroom, where their bodies would be held at a specific, sanctioned distance when they danced together, in the close confines of the train aisle Santana's body was pressed against Brittany's own. As they maneuvered their way slowly down the aisle, turning in the steps of the dance, it seemed to Brittany that she could feel Santana's every inch.

She had never felt such a sensation before.

She could feel the warmth of the Latina's arm encircling her waist, every single one of her fingers as the smaller woman's hand pressed against her back. She could feel Santana's legs move against hers as they moved in time to the music, never missing a step.

Brittany's body began to feel strange to her, light and heavy all at the same time. Her very breath seemed to grow thick inside her lungs, but her blood rushed through her veins. She was aware of herself as a woman for the very first time.

Aware of the way the soft swell of her breasts pressed against Santana's own. The way the steps of the dance made their bodies move in perfect rhythm, hip to hip, and thigh to thigh. Brittany felt a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment creep through her whole body. A fine tingling danced across the surface of her skin.

_I want this to go on forever_, she found herself thinking. As if from a great distance, Brittany noticed that, as always, one lock of hair tumbled down across Santana's forehead. She lifted her hand from the brunette's shoulder to brush it back, and looked straight into her eyes.

Brittany felt her heart squeeze inside her chest, and then pick up with redoubled tempo, pounding in her ears until it became a steady roar. She had imagined this moment earlier, she thought. But she had never dreamed that it might come true. That she could make it come true.

There was a fire burning in Santana Lopez's deep brown eyes. And Brittany had been the one to put it there. All she'd had to do was hold the smaller woman in her arms.

_Dear God,_ she realized suddenly. _How could I have been so blind?_

She had mistaken Santana's steadfastness for a lack of impetuosity, of passion, but there was nothing passionless about her now. The fire in her eyes burned clear and upright. No sudden gust of circumstance would make it waver. It was like Santana's sense of honor. Only death would snuff it out.

Never in her life had Brittany seen passion such as this. Passion that ran straight and true from a generous heart.

And she had been the one to put it there. She and she alone had lit the fire in Santana Lopez's eyes. In that moment, Brittany knew that all she wanted now was to watch it burn forever. To spend her life heated by its warmth, guided by its light.

"Look at that," she heard a voice beside her whisper. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"Never," she heard a second voice say. "I've never seen a couple so much in love."

Brittany stumbled, her body failing to move in sync with Santana's for the very first time. If not for the tight grip of the Latina's arms around her, Brittany would have fallen to her knees in the aisle. Santana stopped dancing at once. The fiddle music faltered.

"What is it, Britt?" Santana asked, her tone urgent. "Are you all right?"

"Of course I am," she answered, stepping back with an attempt at a smile. She had to do something, anything to get out of the other woman's arms. The longer she stayed in them, the longer she feared she would wish to stay.

_It isn't possible_, her mind frantically thought. _I can't let it be possible. _She had just met the Latina that morning. How could she be in love? In love with a woman who was promised to another.

Brittany took another faltering step back. She was Brittany Pierce, not Brittney Bennett. Santana Lopez wasn't hers, could never be hers. How could she have forgotten?

She could see Santana's worried eyes, searching hers for an explanation. But at the very back, the fire still burned bright. It was damped down by other concerns now, but not extinguished. It would never be extinguished, Brittany was certain. Between them, they had started a fire that would burn for all time.

And she had no right to it. No right to it at all.

_I've got to get out of here,_ she thought anxiously.

Without speaking, she pushed her way past Santana and moved blindly through the sleeper, past the astonished faces of her fellow passengers, past Noah Puckerman with his bow held motionless in the air.

She reached the access between the cars, fumbled her way from the Winnipeg to the empty day car ahead of it, where she had not set foot since she had boarded the train. To conserve the supply of coal, the day cars weren't heated, as there was room to accommodate everyone on the sleepers. The cold air was a shock to Brittany's heated skin, like a plunge into icy water.

She didn't stop until she was halfway down the day car. There, without warning, her momentum deserted her. Brittany slumped onto a seat, leaning her head against the cold glass of the window, breathing as heavily as if she had just run the race of her life, her thoughts tumbling.

It couldn't really happen, could it? People couldn't fall in love in the space of a single day.

A scrap of sound attracted her attention. Brittany sat up straight, no longer leaning against the window, but she didn't turn around. A moment later, she could see a dark shape outlined in the window. A woman's frame.

She didn't doubt for a moment that it was Santana, but Brittany continued to gaze straight ahead, not at the brunette, but at her own pale features reflected in the darkened window.

_Don't turn around. Don't turn around,_ she told herself over and over again. If she did, she knew that she would be lost, consumed by the flame.

For the span of one heart beat, then two, Santana stood behind her in the cold, empty day car. Brittany clenched her hands together so tightly in her lap that they began to ache. Perhaps, if she squeezed hard enough, she could drive away the memory of what the Latina's body felt like beneath her hands.

_Tell her_, she urged herself once more, as she had that afternoon. _Tell her the truth. Do it now, before it's too late._ Then, from far off, Brittany heard some small corner of her heart begin to laugh in wild and desperate abandon. Because the truth was that it was already far, far too late.

She saw Santana raise a hand as if to touch her, and then drop it back down to her side. A moment later, as silently as she had come, Santana vanished. Brittany waited, knowing what would inevitably come next.

"I'm tired," she said as Brittney materialized by her side in the day car.

"Yes," Brittney answered, her tone perfectly neutral. "I imagine that you are. I've asked Sam to make the berths up. Everyone else is retiring for the night."

Brittany knew without asking that part of what the other blonde meant was that Santana was no longer on the Winnipeg. She had returned to the Similkameen, her own sleeping car.

Brittany rose, her body as stiff as if she had labored with the railroad crews to clear the tracks. In silence, she followed Brittney back into the Winnipeg, doing her best to ignore the conversations that suddenly fell silent as she passed by. Still silent, she dressed for bed, and then accepted a boost from Brittney up into the upper berth, and heard her companion settle into her own berth below her.

"Good night, Brittney," Brittany said.

"Good night, Britt," Brittney answered after a moment.

"Things will be different tomorrow," Brittany promised suddenly. "You'll see."

Brittney was quiet for so long, Brittany was sure she wasn't going to answer. "I hope so," she finally said quietly. She pulled the long green curtains across the front of their berths.

Long after she could hear from Brittney's breathing that the other girl had fallen asleep, Brittany lay awake, listening to her own breaths move slowly in and out, powered by the beating of her treacherous heart.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, it looks like our dear Brittany has got a dilemma on her hands here...Uh oh. Wonder what's going to happen...;)**

**Fun fact: the actual Superintendent of the railroad's name was James O'Neill, but since this is a _Glee_ story, I thought I'd throw in Figgins for a second, lol. :)  
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**I hope you guys liked this chapter, and chapter 9 will be up in the near future!  
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	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello, everyone!**_  
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**I just realized that I totally forgot to respond to the reviewers! Sorry guys! I've been really busy this last week, and it completely slipped my mind. I'll do it here, though, k? Great. :)  
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**_wkgreen_ - Yes, indeed, it is way more complicated now! Thanks, as always, for the review, and I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**_cbatton_ - Thanks for the review! I'm really glad that this story is suspenseful (in a good way) for you! I love that you get that way while reading; I was worried that maybe it would all be cliche and too predictable. :) Thanks again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
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**_Ryoko05_ - Haha, we'll see what happens. I like that you're falling in love with Santana, though, even if things may or may not be what they seem...Thanks for the review, as always! :D  
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**_Last White Feather_ - They do indeed. :) At least, if Brittany doesn't push her feelings aside for some reason...Aw, thanks! I thought it would be nice to let you guys know some of the actual facts about some of this stuff, and not what I've changed to make it fit my OTP and _Glee_. :)  
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**Anywho...I have nothing else to say. Except, you guys can expect updates to come in the evening (US-EST) from now on. I don't have time during the day anymore to update. I'm sure most of you don't care, but this is for those of you who may like to or have time to read things during the day. :)  
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**So, here's chapter 9! Enjoy! :D**

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><p><em>Cascade, Washington<em>

_February 24, 1910_

Brittany woke to a world of whirling white, and the sinking realization that the train would not be moving on that morning from Cascade. During the night, the storm had completely erased the railroad crews' hard work of the previous day. The drifts of snow were now so deep that they came halfway up the sides of the trains.

Neither the mail train nor the passenger train would go anywhere until each wheel had been painstakingly dug out all over again. And still, the air was filled with blowing white.

Brittany felt depression settle over her, as heavy as her blanket. Had it really been little more than a day ago that she had fled Spokane? It seemed as though she could barely remember a time when her world hadn't been filled with the storm, bound by the train.

_Get up, Britt,_ she urged herself. _Wallowing in self-pity never did anybody any good. _The only problem with getting up was that she would have to face both Santana and Brittney again.

After a night filled with restless dreams, Brittany had come to a conclusion, the only one she felt that she could reach. She wasn't quite sure what had happened between her and Santana Lopez last night during their dance, but she _was_ quite sure that it could never be allowed to happen again. Not for so much as an instant could she allow herself to forget that Santana was Brittney's fiancé, _not hers._

"Britt," a whisper floated up to her. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," Brittany answered quietly.

"I think the washroom is empty," Brittney whispered back.

"All right, I'm ready whenever you are," Brittany said. Once more, the two girls dressed in the tight quarters of the women's washroom, but there was little sense of camaraderie today. Silence wedged between them like a third person. Out of the corner of her eye, Brittany kept catching the other blonde's eyes watching her face, and then sliding away.

_She saw,_ Brittany realized. _She knows_. She wished with all her heart that she could summon up some comforting words to explain away what her friend had seen last night. But she couldn't do it. She didn't understand how it had happened herself.

The only thing she knew for certain was that, no matter which direction she took, she was likely to end up on the path to betrayal.

"Well, I think it's just plain bad management," Mrs. Fabray announced later that day.

She was sitting in the cook shack along with Brittany, Rachel, and Brittney. The day had turned out to be another one of long delays. Once more, the train wheels had to be dug out before they could move forward. Santana, out of obligation to her work duties, and Rachel's husband Noah worked alongside the train crews.

The other women had elected to remain in the cook shack for the day, although Brittany had protested. She hated sitting around doing nothing when she could have been out there helping as well. But the crews had forbidden it, stating that she would just be in the way and the threat of injury was too great for them to risk having her there, much to Brittany's chagrin. So Brittany had to spend her day waiting around in the cook shack with the rest of the women.

The big wooden building was warm, not as stuffy as the train cars were, and staying put kept the women from getting cold and wet as they trekked back and forth to the train.

The morning had passed fairly quickly, but as the afternoon had worn on, all of the women's spirits had begun to flag. Brittany's back ached from the long hours of sitting on the cook house bench. Her clothing, fresh from her carpet bag just that morning, nevertheless felt soiled and rumpled. A fine film of grime seemed to lie over everything. As the afternoon hours stretched toward evening, Brittany found herself dreaming of a long, hot bath.

Only Mrs. Fabray seemed as starched and fresh as ever, her shirt waist free from wrinkles, a jet brooch pinned to its high neck, her back ramrod straight as she sat on the hard wooden bench. Brittany was sure that, should the older woman rise to walk about the room, her petticoats would still rustle with authority. Brittany's felt as limp as a well-used rag.

"Beth, you stay well back from there, now," Mrs. Fabray called out to her daughter as she stood with Abby Puckerman on the far side of the room watching Cook Chang wield an enormous knife. Beth Fabray shifted backward one small step.

"I mean, really," Mrs. Fabray continued, barely pausing to take in air. "You'd think that they would be prepared for things like this. The trains run all winter don't they?"

"Don't think anyone has ever seen a storm quite like this so late in the season, ma'am," Tina Chang's quiet voice said. The Asian woman approached their table with four cups of steaming hot coffee.

"The crews will be in any minute now," Tina said simply, as she deposited the cups before them. "Word is, they have finally dug out the trains."

Mrs. Fabray snorted, unimpressed. "You mean _again_. They did that yesterday."

"You folks should be able to get under way real soon now," Tina went on as if she hadn't heard the blonde woman. "I thought you ladies might enjoy a cup of hot coffee before you get back on the train."

"Thank you," Rachel Puckerman said at once. "That's very thoughtful of you, Mrs. Chang."

Tina's round face lit in a tired smile. "My pleasure, ma'am." As she moved back toward the enormous cook stove, Brittany realized Tina and Mike must be almost as tired as the railroad crews were. After all, they were just two people, yet they had been responsible for feeding everyone for two days straight.

With a sudden gust of freezing air, the door to the cook shack banged open. Snow blew in through the open door.

"Trains are moving out," a voice Brittany recognized as Sam's called out. "All passengers are kindly requested to return to the train."

"I'll take the baby," Brittany offered as the rest of the women rose to their feet. Rachel gave her a tired smile in thanks, as Brittany hooked the basket forever holding Isaac over one arm, and followed in Mrs. Fabray's wake, retrieving Abby on her way to the door.

Isaac Puckerman was a tiny baby. Unlike his sister, he had his mother's prominent nose and large, dark brown eyes. They stared solemnly up at Brittany from the depths of the basket.

"He's awfully small, isn't he?" Brittany murmured.

"I think Rachel is worried," Brittney answered. "She says that Isaac doesn't eat the way he should." They were practically the only words she had spoken to Brittany all day. The silence between them had stretched out so long, it seemed to Brittany that it had a voice of its own, asking endless, unanswerable questions.

"We should go," Brittany said, suddenly realizing they were the only passengers remaining in the cook shack. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Chang," she called as she and Brittney hurried toward the door.

The two cooks turned form their positions near the cook stove. "Hope you folks have an easy journey the rest of the way."

Brittney slipped a shawl from her shoulders, covering the baby's blanket with it. Then she pulled the door open. Together, the two blonde women went back out into the storm.

The snow was blowing wildly as they made their way from the cook shack. The wind always seemed to be worse just before nightfall. By the time they made it back to the train, Brittany was shivering, deep, hard tremors from the pit of her stomach. From the depths of his basket, Isaac Puckerman wailed. Rachel moved toward them the second Brittany and Brittney were inside the Winnipeg.

"It's all right," she said. "I'll take him."

"I'm sorry," Brittany said, feeling the need to apologize for some reason she couldn't explain. The baby wouldn't have stayed any warmer if his mother had carried him.

"It's all right," Rachel said again. But her face puckered as she took the basket from Brittany's arm. Silently, she peeled back the shawl and looked inside. For the first time, Brittany saw fear in the other woman's eyes instead of good humor.

"He'll warm up," Rachel said, holding the shawl out. Brittney took it without speaking. "He'll be just fine."

Quickly, she moved down the Winnipeg toward the Similkameen. The two remaining women returned to their seats, still not speaking. Brittney looked down at her clasped hands, turning Brittany's mother's ring around on her finger. Brittany gazed at her friend's agitated fingers, wishing she could think of the right thing to say.

There was a sudden, neck-wrenching jerk, and the scream of metal against metal. The train seemed to lunge forward. Both girls pitched in their seats. Brittany put her arms out to brace herself, and ended up catching Brittney by the shoulders. The two blondes clung to one another for an instant, and then pushed back into their respective seats.

A sound Brittany hadn't heard in nearly two days suddenly filled her ears: the growling of the steam engine. Slowly, the wheels continuing to scream in protest as they moved along the track, the train inched forward.

Without warning, the growl fell silent. The train was entering the tunnel. Brittany knew the exact moment their car was swallowed up. The window at her side went from white to black as the blowing snow outside was replaced by the close stone walls.

Brittany swallowed once, then twice. She could feel her pulse begin to beat in her throat. Across the aisle, her eyes met Brittney's.

Brittany hadn't thought much about going through the tunnel. It was simply how one got from one place to another. If all had gone according to schedule, the train would have made this run in the middle of the night when the passengers were all asleep. Brittany never would have known she had ever been through solid rock.

But all had not gone according to schedule. With every second that passed, Brittany began to feel more and more as if she were being buried alive in her own tomb. _How long?_ she wondered. How long before they reached the other end of the tunnel?

All around her, Brittany could hear the creaking of the train. The light in the car flickered as the overhead lantern swayed ever so slightly. Brittany knew she should be grateful it wasn't completely dark. At least the cars had their own illumination.

But as the seconds ticked past and the journey continued, Brittany found it difficult to be grateful for anything. Even a return to the storm would be better than this. All she wanted was to be out of the tunnel.

With a second unexpected lurch, the train came to a stop. Brittany stared out the window in horror. The world outside was still pitch-black. They were still inside the tunnel.

"What's happening?" she heard Brittney say, her voice a thin thread of panicked sound. "We're not out of the tunnel yet, are we? Why are we stopping?"

"I don't know," Brittany said. Her ears began to ring with the effort she was making to keep her composure. Her jaw ached from keeping her teeth clenched against the desire to scream.

With a flurry of skirts, Brittney moved across the space between the two seats, her hands reaching for Brittany's. The two girls clung together so tightly, Brittany was certain the bones in both their hands would be broken by the time the train was clear of the tunnel.

She heard a child, she thought it was Beth Fabray, begin to wail. Brittany turned around to stare back down the aisle, craning her neck to see over her shoulder. "Sam," she called. "Do you know why we're stopping?"

"Don't know for sure," Sam answered back at once. "But I reckon it has something to do with the tracks at Wellington. We will move on just as soon as we can, I'm sure."

"Well, really," Brittany heard Mrs. Fabray's voice say over the wailing of her daughter. Brittney's hands jerked. She gave a snort of desperate laughter. Brittany bit down hard on her lip to keep from joining her. She had a feeling if she started laughing now, she would never stop.

"It'll be all right," she said, in unconscious imitation of Rachel Puckerman. "We'll make it though this, Brittney."

Brittney's blue eyes looked steadily into hers. Her lips wavered upward in a tentative smile. As she had yesterday afternoon, she said, "You promise?"

On impulse, Brittany wrapped her arms around her friend, holding her close. She could feel Brittney's heart beating hard and fast, knew her own heart beat with the same explosiveness. She knew what Brittney was asking, and what her answer had to be.

"Yes," she whispered fiercely as she stared into the darkness pressing down around the train. Pressing down against her heart. Maybe if she said it with enough conviction, she could find some way to make her vow come true.

"I promise."

* * *

><p><em>The Railyard at Wellington<em>

_February 25, 1910_

The next morning, Brittany was stiff and groggy. Though she had gone to sleep with high hopes, all she had to do was to open her eyes to have them dashed. The snow swirled outside the train window without let up. Brittany began to feel as if she had been traveling inside the storm forever.

Had there really ever been a time when she had known a sound besides the scream of the wind? A bed bigger than the upper berth? A world larger than the Winnipeg? How much longer would it be before she could move and speak freely?

How long would it be before she faced Santana again?

At the thought of Santana, Brittany's fingers, busy buttoning up Brittney's shirt waist, faltered. One look at the shorter blonde's pale, pinched face after waking had convinced Brittany that her friend was in even worse spirits than she was. In an effort to cheer her up, Brittany had loaned the other girl the nicest of her remaining shirt waists. The fine, white lawn was embroidered all over in an eyelet pattern. The collar and cuffs were bordered in lace. So far, neither girl had mentioned Santana.

"Britt?" Brittney asked now. Her eyes met Brittany's in the washroom's tiny mirror. "Is something wrong? Did you change your mind?"

"Change my mind?" Brittany repeated, unthinkingly. _Oh, yes,_ she thought. _I've changed my mind. I wish we had never embarked upon this masquerade in the first place._

"About the shirt waist," Brittney clarified. "I'd understand if you didn't want me to wear it. It is awfully fine."

"Heavens, no," Brittany responded quickly, as she resumed her careful buttoning. "My mind just got away from me for a moment, that's all."

"Maybe you have mine too," Brittney ventured with a smile. "I swear my head hurts so badly I can't see or think straight."

"It's the strain of not knowing, I daresay," Brittany said quietly. She finished the buttons and gave Brittney's back a quick pat. "There you go. Let's go find Sam. Perhaps he will have some good news for us."

But when they found him at the far end of the car once more helping with Beth Fabray, the porter had none. Instead, he told them a rotary had been out all night, clearing a slide at a place called Windy Point.

"Came back for more coal, and went right back out again," Sam said soberly, his usual cheerful expression strained. "Though I did hear the engineer say that the snow was soft. That'll make it easier to clear, even if it is a big one."

"I'm hungry," Beth Fabray whined. "I want my breakfast in here. I don't want to go back out in the storm. I'm tired of being cold."

Brittany mastered a spurt of irritation, although she had to admit that Beth's pronouncements and her own thoughts were a pretty close match. She, too, was tired of tramping back and forth, getting cold and wet for every mouthful. She, too, was tired of feeling trapped inside either a cook shack or a train car. But, unlike the six year old, she could see there wasn't any choice.

"You'll like Wellington," Sam assured the young girl, his glance taking in her mother. "There's a real hotel here."

"A hotel!" Mrs. Fabray exclaimed. "I shall book a room at once. Bring my things along, please, Sam."

If Sam resented her high-handed manner of dealing with him, he didn't show it. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he answered quietly, as though knowing that he was about to be the deliverer of unwelcome news. "But I'm afraid it won't be possible to secure a room. The hotel is full up with railroad crews, particularly now that there are extra men to help clear the slides. But the hotel does have a real dining room."

Mrs. Fabray sniffed to show her disapproval. "Well, I suppose that's something. How do we get there?"

"Just go straight along the main track," Sam said. "Jones' Hotel is right behind the depot. There's no way you can miss it. Not even in all this weather."

Brittany didn't think Finn or Rebecca would be impressed with the inside of Jones' Hotel, but it was warm and cheerful and, if nothing else, a change from the cook shack at Cascade. The tables were set with blue and red checked table cloths and boasted not hard benches, but individual chairs. The windows even had lace curtains draped across them.

"Well," Mrs. Fabray said, as the party paused inside the doorway to shake and stamp the snow off. "This is better, I must say."

At that moment, Rachel Puckerman appeared from what Brittany assumed was the kitchen, a huge, white apron wrapped around her dress, her arms full of a steaming platter of ham and eggs.

"What on earth?" Brittany said.

Rachel laughed as she deposited the serving plate on a table occupied by Noah and Santana. The Puckermans's young daughter Abby was perched on her father's knee. The baby's basket rested on a chair beside him.

"With all the extra people from two trains. Mrs. Jones is swamped," Rachel explained, as she motioned Brittany and Brittney over. "So some of us are pitching in to help."

"You go ahead and sit down," Brittany said at once, quickly maneuvering Brittney into the only remaining chair at the table. "I'll go with Rachel and see if Mrs. Jones needs more help."

Brittney's pale face flushed with color. "I should come with you," she tried to protest.

"You aren't feeling well," Brittany said firmly. She pulled in a steadying breath and switched her attention to Santana. She hadn't seen the Latina at all the day before, except from a distance. And Brittany hadn't spoken with her since the night that they had danced together.

"Good morning," Brittany said, her eyes taking in the brunette's ashen face, the dark rings of weariness beneath her deep brown eyes. Even the lock of hair that tumbled down over her forehead seemed to droop. Brittany's fingers itched with the desire to smooth the lock of hair back, and the Latina's worries with it.

Santana's chocolate eyes flashed up to her face. "Good morning," she answered steadily.

"Miss Pierce isn't feeling very well," Brittany hurried on. "May I leave her in your care for breakfast?"

"Of course," Santana said at once. Her eyes left Brittany's face to rest upon Brittney. "I'm sorry to hear you aren't well, Miss Pierce. Perhaps some of Mrs. Jones' fine breakfast—"

"Under the weather, are you?" Noah Puckerman put in.

"Oh, Noah," his wife protested. "For heaven's sake!"

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" her husband answered, reaching back to capture her hand. "I got her to smile."

At this, Brittney actually chuckled. Mr. Puckerman beamed across the table at her. "There, you see?" he asked his wife.

_How easy they are together,_ Brittany thought as she watched Rachel's fingers tangled with her husband's. _How right._ Could she and Santana ever grow to be like that, she wondered, if they had enough time?

She heard a sniff behind her and realized Mrs. Fabray was still standing nearby. No doubt she was miffed that the taller blonde had insisted Brittney take the only seat at the table. Swiftly, Brittany made eye contact with Rachel. The small brunette freed her hand from her husband's.

"I hope you won't think it forward of me," she said, moving to take Mrs. Fabray by the arm, "but I've been keeping my eye on a table for you all morning. It's right over there—next to that small table with that green plant. Don't you think that's just the loveliest touch? Though how Mrs. Jones keeps anything growing with so much to do, I'm sure I can't imagine."

"Some women are just naturally handy that way," Mrs. Fabray answered. "Mr. Fabray always says that no one can match me for African violets."

"I'm sure he must be right," Rachel said. Mrs. Fabray sniffed again, but she sat at the table Rachel suggested. Brittany gave a sigh of relief. Now, perhaps, Brittney could have some time with Santana. Brittany tried to ignore the swift twist of her heart. _I'm doing the right thing._

"No more dawdling," Rachel said, tucking her arm through Brittany's and leading her off to the kitchen. "I'm going to put you to work."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur as Brittany helped serve breakfast. Mrs. Jones was thicker, dark-skinned woman who managed to accomplish what seemed to Brittany to be a truly astonishing amount of work. During the course of the morning, she learned that the robust woman cured her own ham and bacon, canned fruits and vegetables, and baked her own bread.

She also clerked at the Wellington store and post office, made beds in the hotel and did all the hotel laundry by hand. Yet she claimed the only reason she needed help now was the sudden, unexpected influx of extra people. Even when the winter weather was at its worst, for two trains to be stuck at Wellington at once was simply unheard of.

"Well, I can't imagine how you do it all," Brittany mused, during a lull in the action. Several women, including Mrs. Jones, stood at the entrance to the dining room, surveying the contented eaters filling the room.

"It's all a matter of what you're used to, I guess," Mrs. Jones said. Brittany saw her eyes move to the table where Santana still sat with Brittney, Isaac's basket beside them. Noah Puckerman had long since risen to attend to his active young daughter.

"I still can't get over the fact that you're not sisters," Mrs. Jones went on, her eyes resting on Brittney. "You girls sure do look alike. And you say that's your fiancé? You're not worried about her spending so much time with your friend, now are you?" she teased gently.

Rachel jointed them with a laugh. "You'd never ask that question if you could see the way she looks at Britt."

"Rachel," Brittany protested as she felt her face begin to heat from embarrassment.

"Well, it's true and you know it," Rachel responded. "And you're just as bad."

Brittany shut her mouth with a snap. Were her newly discovered feelings for Santana so plain that even Rachel could read them?

"Well now," Mrs. Jones said, her yes switching to Brittany's rapidly flushing face. "That's different then."

Without warning, a figure appeared in the dining room doorway. With a start, Brittany recognized the conductor from the passenger train. She remembered him as calm and self-assured. But this man had none of the assurance that had helped him face down Finn.

Now, he looked wild and storm-blown. Though the entrance to the dining room was some distance from the front door of the hotel, he hadn't stopped to brush off the snow that had collected on his garments.

He paused just inside the doorway, his eyes sweeping the room once, twice. Then they focused on the object of his search like a homing beacon, and he headed straight for Santana.

As Brittany watched, the conductor leaned over, whispering urgently. Santana stood so abruptly her chair tipped over backward. She didn't stoop to pick it up, nor did she turn to make her excuses to Brittney. She simply seized the conductor by the arm and walked him back across the room, speaking swiftly and quietly.

When they reached the doorway she looked up, studying the tall man's face, plainly asking a question. When the conductor nodded, Santana returned the gesture and patted the man on the shoulder. The conductor looked over his shoulder just once, and then hurried through the doorway.

Santana stood for a moment, her back toward the room, staring forward as if at nothing. Behind her, the dining room grew so silent Brittany swore she heard the blood rushing through her veins. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Noah Puckerman move forward.

"For God's sake, Santana," Noah said. "What is it, woman? What's happened?" At the sound of another voice, Santana started and turned around slowly. At the sight of her face, Brittany took an involuntary step forward, her breath crowding into her throat.

She had thought the Latina was pale before, but compared to what she looked like now, her earlier pallor was nothing. Brittany had never seen anyone look like this. Santana's normally tan face was nearly as white as bleached bone.

Her vivid brown eyes seemed to blaze from her face, filled with some unidentifiable, desperate emotion. The expression in them was so bright, Brittany almost raised a hand to shield her own.

Santana's eyes swept the room, once, twice, as had the conductor's before her. As though she were searching for the one person in the world she couldn't live without. The person she would cling to with her dying strength, ask for with her dying breath. Her lifeline.

The realization struck her hard and fast, a fist straight to Brittany's stomach. She was the one the Latina searched for with those wild, brown eyes.

"Santana?" she called out.

Instantly, Santana's head swiveled toward her. Her eyes locked onto Brittany's. Brittany made a strangled sound, part joy, part relief, part despair. Now, there was no help for it. She could never go back now, regardless of what the future might bring, regardless of what it cost her.

Deep within her eyes, behind the devastation, the flame that they had started blazed like a bonfire.

Brittany forgot about Rachel Puckerman and Mrs. Jones. She forgot about Brittney just across the room. The only person she could see was Santana Lopez. On unsteady legs, she walked across the room.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

Santana didn't answer until Brittany reached her, until she had captured one of the blonde's porcelain hands in her tan one. She squeezed so tightly that Brittany all but heard the bones crack. Then Santana pulled the taller woman to her side, wrapping one arm around her waist as she faced the occupants of the trains. Brittany felt Santana pull in one breath, and then another before she spoke.

"There's been an avalanche at the railyard at Cascade."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Oh, no! Not an avalanche! :( **

**Fun fact: The hotel that Mercedes runs was actually real. Except, it was run by a husband and wife named Bailets, so the hotel was called Bailets' Hotel. It also had plants all the time there, as well, and was quite famous for it. Of course, I took liberties with this for the sake of _Glee._ :)**

**That's all. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and chapter 10 will be up in a week! :D  
><strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hello, everyone!**

**I haven't said this in a while, but I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who has alerted/favorited/reviewed this story! It really means a lot that some people are enjoying the story. Thanks also to the silent readers. You guys rock too. :D**

**So, the reviewers:  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Hehe, glad I could make you swoon. ;) What a twist, indeed! I wonder if that will change things...? We'll see. ;) Thanks for the review, as always, and I hope you like this semi-short chapter! :)  
><strong>

**_James888_ - I haven't had time to respond to your new review, so I'll do it here. I know, that's one of the things that I love so much about Brittana. It's obvious, even if it's not "in your face" all the time. They can't help the way they feel and just let it show in their body language and actions. :) Oh, the masquerade will be "resolved" shortly...you'll see what happens, though it's probably safe to say that Santana's going to feel hurt and betrayed (can I get a "duh"? lol). Thanks again for the review, and I hope this chapter is to your liking! :D  
><strong>

**Sorry this is shorter than usual, guys. I have been a little insanely busy this week...Oh, well. Such is the way with things. :)  
><strong>

**On an unrelated note, if any of you are interested in history and comedy, you should check out the BBC's TV show _Horrible Histories_. If you're not from the UK (such as myself), you can watch series ("season") 2 and 3 on YouTube. They do comedy sketches in a variety of different historical time periods (obviously focusing on Britain, but they do some others as well, like the Aztecs or the Greeks), while at the same time teaching the viewer a little bit about history. They aren't always correct (I've caught a couple mistakes for the Roman and Stone Age segments), but it's all highly entertaining! Especially the songs. The songs are the best! :D So...yeah. If ever you find yourself so inclined, you might want to check it out sometime for a good laugh. :)  
><strong>

**Okay, that's enough babbling out of me today. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!**

* * *

><p>It had taken everything.<p>

Fifty feet wide, the avalanche had swept down from above the yard and hurled itself across the tracks, sweeping everything in front of it down over the side of the ravine.

The cook shack was gone. Tina and Mike Chang were gone, crushed by the force of the moving snow and buried under who knew how many feet of ice and debris. If the trains had not moved on from Cascade the night before, would they have joined them? Brittany wondered.

_It could have been us,_ she thought as she stood at Santana's side, staring at the astonished faces of her fellow passengers. _It could have been me._

Total silence followed Santana's announcement, as though fear and shock had rendered people speechless. But it didn't take long for the storm to break.

"How do we know that we will be safe here?" the man sitting closest to them demanded as he leaped to his feet. "Have you looked at the slope above the trains? That whole side of the mountain could slide down and send us right into Tye Creek."

Brittany stretched one arm across Santana's back in a silent show of support. But, as the questions continued hard and fast, the hand that she had pressed against her shirt waist slowly clenched into a fist. She could feel the tension radiating from the Latina's body. However, Santana kept her voice calm and steady. Never had Brittany been so impressed by a show of strength and will.

_Wrong, all wrong_, she kept repeating to herself. She had never misjudged anyone as badly as she had misjudged Santana Lopez. The still waters in her ran so deep that Brittany didn't think that she would ever find the bottom.

"All I can tell you is that there's never been a slide here before," Brittany listened to the shorter woman say patiently. "I know that slope above the strains looks bad, but it's really safer than the set-up at Cascade."

"Why's that?" the first man to challenge Santana barked.

The brunette took a deep, steadying breath. Brittany moved closer, instinctively offering the other woman even more support. She didn't glance at the blonde, but the hand around Brittany's waist moved upward. Just once, almost absently, as though she didn't realize what she was doing, Santana stroked her long, golden hair. Then her hand resumed its tight grasp about Brittany's waist.

"The Cascade yard was in a ravine, a place where a slide is more likely to occur naturally," she explained. "It's an entirely different kind of terrain than where the trains are here. Not only that, but there's a ridge, a hogback, high up on that hill. If a slide did start to come down, the hogback would shunt the snow the other way. Chances are, it wouldn't touch the trains at all."

"But you don't know that for certain," a woman's voice said. Brittany turned her head in the speaker's direction. It was Mrs. Fabray. The older woman was white, all the way to her lips. Beth was squirming uncomfortably in the tight grip of her mother's hand.

Santana passed her free hand across her face. "No, I don't know that for certain," she replied, her voice beginning to show the strain she had been trying to keep in check. "I'm not going to lie to you people," she went on, her voice rising just a little. "Nobody can know anything for certain in this situation. No one has ever seen a storm like this so late in the season, not even the most seasoned men."

A low buzzing of conversation filled the dining room, reminding Brittany of a swarm of angry bees.

"Why can't we just go back to Leavenworth?" an older woman asked.

"Because the eastbound tracks are completely buried by the slide at Cascade, ma'am," Santana said. If she was irritated by the woman's question, she didn't let it show in her voice, but rather kept her tone even and polite. "There's a rotary trying to clear it now."

"In other words," a voice Brittany couldn't identify shouted, "we're stuck here. We can't go forward or back!"

An agitated groundswell of noise rose in the dining room.

"Please," Santana pleaded, trying to regain control of the terrified passengers. She released her hold on Brittany to ask for silence by raising both of her hands. "Please, ladies and gentlemen, you must stay calm. There's never been a slide here before, and there's no reason to think that there will be one now," Santana said.

"I promise you the crews are doing the very best they can. Superintendent Figgins himself is out with a rotary right now, trying to get the slide to the west of us cleared. Once that is done, we will get under way to Seattle just as soon as we can. All you folks have to do is be patient and sit tight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd better get back to work myself."

She turned swiftly and left the dining room. Brittany followed her, close at her heels. The Latina strode across the hotel lobby at a brisk pace, and then stopped in front of the door so suddenly that Brittany couldn't stop in time. She ran right into the brunette.

Santana turned, her arms reaching to steady the taller woman. "Britt," she said, her voice so tense that Brittany almost didn't recognize it. "I'm sorry—I—"

"Don't," Brittany cut her off. "Don't apologize, Santana. I should have let you go, I just—" The Latina gave her a tiny shake, cutting off her flow of words.

"No you shouldn't have," she answered softly as she gazed intently into Brittany's ocean blue eyes. "But I—" She released the blonde to pass one hand across her face once again, as if trying to clear her thoughts. As Santana focused on her again, Brittany saw the ghost of a smile had appeared in her deep brown eyes. "I can't believe this—but I forgot that you were there. All I could think about was getting back to the trains."

Brittany felt her lips quiver upward. How could she smile in the midst of so much pain? But, somehow, it just felt _right_. The relief in Santana's face when she saw the blonde's reaction was so plain that Brittany wished she had thrown back her head and laughed aloud. Santana was strong, but that didn't mean that she didn't need support. Didn't mean that the Latina didn't need _her._

"Just be careful out there, will you?" Brittany said. "You've already been working so hard."

"Not as hard as some," she answered, the smile vanishing like the sun behind a cloud. "Most of the rotary crews haven't slept at all."

"All the more reason for you to stay fresh," Brittany answered firmly. "They'll need someone to help decide what to do, with Superintendent Figgins gone. I just wish I could be out there working alongside you and helping the crews as well."

A small, sad smile whispered across the brunette's features. "I know, so do I, but Superintendent Figgins has expressly forbidden it. The only reason why Figgins even allows me out there is because I'm his number two. It's not fair, but it's the way he runs the railroad."

"Yes, well, maybe one day that will change, and women will be able to work with men as equals in all manner of industry," Brittany responded, her jaw set in determination. "But until that day comes, you will be making a difference here as you lead the railroad crews in their work to free us from this unstable situation. I have every confidence in you, Santana," Brittany finished steadily, looking the Latina straight in the eye to convey her sincerity.

Santana regarded her in reverent silence, her eyes shining with emotion. "You're pretty fierce, aren't you, Miss Bennett?"

"Not always," Brittany said, striving to keep her tone light. "Only when it comes to those I—"

Her voice strangled in her throat. Brittany faltered and broke off. Her heartbeat hammered, posing the same question, over and over. _What have I done? What have I done?_

She had almost told her.

Brittany stood absolutely still, listening to the word she hadn't spoken tremble in the air around them. Watching the way the fire blazed in Santana's eyes like a signal beacon. The Latina bent her head forward a fraction, closing her eyes briefly, as though deep in thought, that one lock of hair tumbling as always across her forehead. Brittany didn't hesitate to reach up and brush it back.

Santana's raven hair felt like silk between her slender fingers, exactly right: soft, yet strong. At the touch of the blonde's fingers against her forehead, Santana jolted, as if stung, and stared wide-eyed at the woman in front of her. The fire in her dark eyes burned so hot and bright, Brittany was certain that she would be blinded by it. The rest of the world would be seared away until the two of them were all that was left, all that she could see. All that she wanted.

"Only with those you what?" Brittany heard her murmur, her husky voice taking on a slightly deeper timbre. Brittany felt a sharp pain shoot through her chest as her heart cracked open. Everything except the need to tell the Latina what was hidden there burned and blew away as ashes on the winter wind.

"Only with those I love."

She closed her eyes then, the blaze of Santana's eyes became so bright, and suddenly felt the shorter woman's full mouth close over hers.

How was it possible?

Brittany had never imagined that anything could be hotter than what she had seen within Santana's eyes, but the touch of her lips was an inferno. Brittany's blood raced like wildfire through her body, roared like a bonfire in her head.

She could feel heat sweep along the surface of her skin, and then slowly sink down and down, till her heart was knit back together. From this moment forward, it would be fused with the Latina's forever, the part of her that burned most fiercely of all.

Santana tilted her head, intensifying the kiss impossibly more as Brittany felt the brunette's hands entwine in her hair, pulling her ever closer, and Brittany's own arms tightened around the other woman's waist. Neither woman wanted to let go, for the moment to end, so consumed they were by the flame as their mouths moved together in unison. It wasn't until Brittany opened her mouth wider and ever so gently swiped her tongue across Santana's plump bottom lip that the Latina was jolted back to reality.

Santana slowly disconnected their mouths, her brown eyes staring up into Brittany's, her hands still wrapped up in golden locks, her breath unsteady. "My God," she whispered. "Britt—I—"

Brittany laid her trembling fingers against the Latina's swollen lips. "You have to see to the trains," she said, never sure how she found her voice. "It's all right. I know. Just promise me that you'll be careful," she said again.

"I will," Santana promised, disentangling her hands from Brittany's hair to take the blonde's pale hands with her own, her thumbs softly caressing the backs of them, sending delightful tingles up Brittany's arms with each pass. "Stay inside. Stay warm. Help Mrs. Jones if you can. It would probably be good to keep busy. Try not to worry, Britt. It will be all right. I promise."

Brittany felt a cold fist close around her burning heart. Before she could say another word, Santana turned and opened the door, passed through it swiftly, and slammed it shut behind her.

_I made a promise, too,_ Brittany thought despairingly as she turned away. A promise to Brittney that things would be all right. A promise she was very much afraid that she had just broken. She took two steps across the lobby, and then stopped short.

Brittney was standing in front of her in the dining room doorway.

* * *

><p>Brittany spent the rest of the day in a strange blur, her body moving, but her mind unfocused. Brittney disappeared shortly after breakfast. Brittany stayed at the hotel. Along with several of the other women, she helped Mrs. Jones prepare and serve lunch, then dinner. Brittany lost track of the number of plates she carried to and fro, first full, and then empty. By the time the last of the dinner dishes were finally done, Brittany had washed so many her hands were red and puckered.<p>

Santana had come in just once, in the late afternoon, with word that Superintendent Figgins had returned with the westbound double rotary. The slide at Windy Point still had yet to be cleared, but Figgins was hopeful that, with a new load of coal and water, the rotary would be able to finish the task during the night, enabling the trains to move on in the morning.

The Superintendent was going back out as soon as the rotary had been refueled, to stay with it until the slide was cleared. He had assigned to Santana the task of telling the anxious passengers that they would be spending one more night in Wellington.

To herself alone, Brittany had admitted that she was glad she didn't have to be on the train when Santana made her announcement. Before the slide at Cascade, the passengers had been irritated by the delay the snowstorm caused, but no one had been particularly alarmed by it. But what had happened in the night at Cascade had changed everything, changed everyone.

Now Brittany's fellow passengers ate their meals in total silence, or in tight groups leaning toward one another, talking in low, urgent voices. More than once, Brittany saw a man bang his fist upon the table as he made a point in an argument. Anger, tension, and fear all hung like smoke in the air around her.

_How long will it take?_ she wondered. How long before the nerve of the passengers shattered like the film of ice on a pitcher of water on a winter's morning?

But surely, she consoled herself, long before such a thing could occur the slides would be cleared and they would all be on their way to Seattle.

In the blur of activity, Brittany didn't see Brittney all day, though Mrs. Jones said that she had come in at both mealtimes to fetch food for herself and the Puckerman family. When Noah Puckerman came in to dinner, one of the last men to do so, he confirmed that Isaac was ailing, and that Brittney had spent the day helping Rachel with her and Abby.

Mr. Puckerman looked even worse than Santana did. His hands were red and chapped from the cold; his face was drawn and haggard. He still insisted on helping Santana work with the train crews, in spite of his concerns about his family.

"I shouldn't have let Rachel make this trip," he said, when Brittany took a moment to sit beside him. "Isaac's birth was hard on her, and the baby's always been frail. But she didn't want us to be apart, and I couldn't bear to leave her."

Brittany reached to cover one of his hands with hers. It felt strange to see such a big man be so helpless. "I'm sure you did the right thing," she said softly, knowing how inadequate the words were even as she spoke them. "Things have to get better soon, don't they? I mean, they can't get much worse." No matter how dire the situation, the tall blonde always tried to see light at the end of the tunnel, the bright side of things.

Noah Puckerman snorted, and then rubbed a hand against his tired eyes, trying in vain to relieve the tension. "I wouldn't be too sure about that, if I were you," he said wryly. "This is the very devil of a storm." Then he colored. "Santana would skin me alive if she knew I had told you a thing like that."

"Don't worry about Santana," Brittany reassured him with a smile. "I'm not the sort of person who needs things sugar coated. I'm sure Santana knows that I would much rather know the truth."

"I daresay she does," Mr. Puckerman answered with a tired smile. He stared down at the red-checked table cloth a moment. "If you'll allow me to say so, you've each made a fine choice. I wish you every happiness, Miss Bennett."

Brittany swallowed past the enormous lump in her throat. Santana wasn't the only one the blonde was deceiving, and none of them deserved it. "Thank you, Mr. Puckerman," she managed to choke out after a moment.

"Noah," he corrected. "We shouldn't stand on ceremony after all that has happened, and all the help that you have given Rachel."

"Thank you, Noah," Brittany repeated, smiling warmly at the man seated across from her.

But once again, in the back of her mind a voice was shouting, insisting that Santana deserved the truth as much as she did, as much as Noah Puckerman. How could she accept Santana's love, Noah's heartfelt good wishes? She had lied to them both. She was not Brittney Bennett.

All through the long, strange day, it had been Brittany's feelings for Santana that had sustained her, kept her going. Her greatest joy, and her greatest conflict.

When she tried to think ahead to the future, the blonde discovered that she couldn't do it. She could see only now, the current moment. The way ahead was hazy and white, as if Brittany was trying to see through the snowstorm.

However, as the day dragged on and she could still feel the searing heat of Santana's lips against her own, her heart began to dream a thing her mind knew was impossible: that somehow, she and Santana could be together when their strange journey was over. That, like a fairytale, their story could end in happily ever after.

"I'll walk you back, if you like," Noah offered as he finished his dinner, snapping Brittany out of her thoughts and back to the time at hand. "It's dark out. You shouldn't go alone."

"Just let me get this plate washed up," Brittany said, holding back a retort that she could take care of herself and telling herself that he meant well.

"Never mind that," Mrs. Jones said, materializing behind her. "You've put in a long enough day, Miss Bennett. I appreciate your help, but you should go along now. Besides, she added, a twinkle in her eye, "there's always tomorrow, don't forget."

Brittany groaned, making Mrs. Jones chuckle. Brittany followed a silent Noah Puckerman to the hotel door. Then, sheltered a little by his bulk, she stepped back out into the storm.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Uh oh...What's Brittney going to say once she gets a moment alone with Brittany? Will anyone overhear said conversation? We'll find out the answers to these questions in the coming chapter (I'm pretty sure...haven't written it yet, though, lol), so hang tight! :D **

**I hope you liked this chapter! I know not too too much happened, but it's still pertinent. :) K, that's all. I'll be back in a week!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Greetings, everyone!**

**First, as always, the reviewers!  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Yes, indeed! Brittana is love. :D Um...yes. Tina and Mike are dead and buried beneath hundreds of feet of snow and debris. :( Thanks for the review, like always, and I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**_Cali Cheerleading Swagger_ - Thanks for the review! You're back! I didn't get a chance to thank you for the review you left after the epilogue of _Impossible to Ignore_, so I just wanted to say thanks now. You're too kind. :) Well, I hope the rest of this story doesn't disappoint! Thanks again. :D  
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**Um...yeah. I just worked an 8-hour day without lunch or a break, so I'm kind of exhausted right now, lol. But, it just shows my devotion to you guys because the first thing I did after I kicked off my shoes was sit down at my computer and do some final proofreading of this chapter so I could post it. ;)  
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**Anyway...there are some fairly intense things happening this chapter. I hope you guys enjoy it! :D**

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><p><em>The Railyard at Wellington<em>

_February 27, 1910_

"This situation is unacceptable, madam! I demand that you move the trains at once!"

An angry groundswell of support filled the dining room at Jones' Hotel. From her position on the far side of the room, Brittany could hardly bring herself to look at Santana's strained and tired face.

Just as Brittany had feared, the mood of the passengers had turned ugly, stretched to the breaking point by the setbacks of the previous day. Instead of a swift and early departure, the trains still sat motionless at Wellington.

The doubleheaded rotary was trapped between two slides to the west. No one even knew the exact location of the eastern rotary. No word of their predicament could be sent to the outside world. The telegraph lines were down.

But the final straw was a thing not even Brittany could have imagined. As the uncertain nature of the trains' departure had become so clear, the Joneses had been forced to make a drastic decision. There simply weren't enough supplies to feed the train crews and passengers three meals a day. From now on, there would be only two meals a day, breakfast and dinner.

Where once breakfast had been sumptuous flapjacks, eggs, and bacon, now it would be toast and porridge. Any meat there was would be saved for the evening meal. All servings would be strictly portioned.

Disheartening as the rest of yesterday had been, the announcement of food rationing had been the spark that had ignited the powder keg of the passengers' emotions. Though she had initially been surprised at the heat of the outburst, by now Brittany thought she understood what had caused them.

It was such an easy step to imagine their situation going from two meals a day to one, as the food supply slowly but surely dwindled. If the weather didn't clear soon and no word of their situation reached the outside world, it wouldn't take an avalanche to wipe out the passengers and train crews. They would all simply starve to death in the mountains.

The passengers' fears for their safety had exploded in angry demands. Just as she had when news of the Cascade avalanche had come through, Santana was bearing the brunt of them. Superintendent Figgins was gone once more. Shortly after breakfast, he and several other men had set out on foot in an attempt to reach the depot at Scenic in the hope that the telegraph there was still working.

Scenic marked the end of the hairpin turn the tracks took on the western side of the tunnel, to help the trains lose elevation. It was only a matter of a few miles on foot. But the trains couldn't simply head straight down the mountain. Even for the crews it would be treacherous going. No one knew what the conditions would be like. There was every chance the Superintendent and his men would be unable to reach the depot.

Instead of consoling them, Figgins' departure had made the passengers even angrier, even edgier. It felt to many as though they had been abandoned. Shortly after Figgins had left, a large group had demanded a meeting with a railroad representative.

Brittany watched as Santana turned her head to focus on the man who was demanding that the trains be moved. The movement was stiff, as if just holding her head up required effort.

"Where would you suggest I move them to, sir?" Santana asked quietly.

"How dare you?" the man shouted, leaping to his feet. He banged his walking stick upon the floor and Brittany belatedly recognized Judge Schuester. "How dare you patronize me?" the Judge demanded.

Santana passed a hand across her forehead slowly. Even from across the room, it seemed to Brittany that she could see the Latina visibly working to restrain her temper.

"I beg your pardon, sir," she said, her tone still quiet. "I intended no disrespect, but merely to pose a simple question. You want the trains moved, I understand that. However, what I cannot seem to impress upon you—upon any of you—" Santana raised her voice. Her dark eyes roamed the roomful of angry passengers. "—is that all of us who work for the railroad genuinely believe that the trains are safest right where they are. There is simply no other place to which I can move them."

"What about up into the snowsheds?" a voice near Brittany demanded.

"Or the tunnel?" asked Mrs. Fabray.

"The tunnel is completely out of the question," Santana said at once. "It's cold and wet, and would trap the steam and coal smoke. You could all suffocate in a matter of hours."

"Don't heat the cars, then," a third voice called out. "We can take the cold."

Santana shook her head emphatically. "I'm sorry," she said, true remorse evident in her voice. "I cannot run the trains into the tunnel."

"You mean you won't!" the man with the cane said, thumping it once again for emphasis. "We've made a perfectly reasonable request, and you're refusing us."

"Sir," Santana began, her inner irritation beginning to seep through in her strained voice. "I—"

But the man rode right over her. "Have you looked at that snowfield above the trains?" he shouted, his voice reverberating off the walls of the dining room. "The slope is completely white from all the snow we have had. The tops of all those dead trees are completely covered over. That whole mountainside is just waiting to come down. It's an avalanche waiting to happen. I say the trains should be moved into the tunnel without delay. And if you're cowardly enough to refuse us, then I demand that you put your refusal in writing!"

"Here, here!" voices cried out.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves!"

An astonished silence fell upon the dining room. Then Brittany heard a soft rustle of garments as, one by one, heads turned to stare in the direction of the newcomer. As Brittany realized who it was, she felt her body begin to tingle in shock. It was Brittney who had spoken.

Brittney stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room, her hands on her hips, her sky blue eyes sparkling. Her face was flushed an angry red. Brittany had never seen her look so forceful.

"You should be ashamed of yourselves," Brittney said once more. "Santana and all the railroad crews have been working day and night to get us out of here. As far as I can make out, all you've done is to complain about your own comfort. The other women have helped Mrs. Jones cook and serve your meals. But the only man of you who has helped do anything at all is Noah Puckerman. If you want something done so much, why don't you stop talking and do it yourselves?"

"With all due respect, it's not our job to make sure the trains keep running, ma'am," Judge Schuester answered after a startled moment. "That's the job of the Great Northern. Much as I commend your desire to support your fiancé—"

He broke off as Mrs. Fabray began to whisper to him, furiously. "Oh," he said, his head swiveling between Brittany and Brittney. "I beg your pardon, Miss Pierce."

Brittney's face paled and her hands dropped to her sides. Brittany could practically see the fight go right out of her. Her desire to defend Santana had been so strong, she had forgotten that, as far as the other passengers were concerned, she didn't have the right to.

"No one is more concerned for the safety of the trains and passengers than I am, ladies and gentlemen," Santana spoke evenly into the strange, tense silence. "_Absolutely no one._ But what I cannot seem to make you understand is that I couldn't move the trains into the tunnel even if I thought that was best."

"Why the hell not?" the Judge demanded.

Santana's sharp eyes shot to his face. At the expression in them, Judge Schuester sat down abruptly.

"You say that you've looked up at the snowfield," Santana began, her quiet voice traveling easily to all corners of the silent dining room. Her eyes roamed over the assembled passengers, one by one. "Have you looked beneath your own two feet? Have you looked at the tracks? Can you even find them?

"There's nearly three days' worth of accumulated snow on the ground and on the tracks, and I have no way to clear it. Even if I knew for certain that that hillside would come down, I couldn't move the trains. _I have no working rotary._"

As the enormity of what she was saying sank in, Brittany could hear one of the women begin to weep quietly. It was what she felt like doing herself. They were trapped, just as surely as the doubleheader at Windy Point. Stuck fast, with the great snowfield rising straight up above them.

Brittany stared across the room at Santana's tired, desperate face. Without warning, she shivered. Goosebumps tingled along the surface of her skin. In her heart, even in the midst of her love, a terrible fear began to blossom.

There was a reason she couldn't see the future, and it had nothing to do with the situation with Brittney. She couldn't see the future because there wasn't going to be one. Brittany was going to lose everything she held dear in this cold, forbidding place.

She was going to die at Wellington.

* * *

><p>"Britt?"<p>

Brittany started at the sound of the familiar voice, but her eyes never left the snowfield.

She had spent the day on the train helping Rachel Puckerman and the other mothers occupy the restless, fretful children. Since their time on the train was now extended indefinitely, Sam and the porter on the Similkameen had made the decision to leave about half of each car made up in sleeping berths. That way, the children and older folks could rest if they needed to.

Brittany hadn't seen Brittney since her outburst in defense of Santana. She had tried to speak with the shorter blonde after the tension-filled meeting in the dining room without success. By the time she had made it across the room, Brittney had vanished.

Brittany was worn out from her long hours in the close, hot train car, filled with the smells of worried, unwashed bodies, the cries of fussy children. The air in the cars felt thick with fear. Brittany began to fear that she would suffocate.

Finally, just before dinner, an exhausted Rachel and her children had fallen into a troubled sleep. Brittany had returned to the Winnipeg, bundled into her coat, and slipped from the train. Anything was better than staying in the train car, even staring up at the snowfield which threatened them. Standing at the side of her Pullman car, gazing upward, Brittany could see that the Judge had been right in his description of it. All traces of the blackened trees had vanished as if they had never existed. The snow above Brittany stretched as pure and white as icing on a wedding cake.

_Wedding cake,_ she thought wryly. No matter which way her mind went, it found only trouble.

"Brittany?" the voice said again. She turned, finally taking her eyes off the snowfield.

"Hello, Santana," she greeted the brunette with a small, warm smile. She wrapped her arms across her chest. It was the only thing that kept her from wrapping them around the Latina. Santana looked beyond exhausted. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her beautiful face almost devoid of color.

"How long has it been since you've had any sleep?" Brittany asked, not bothering to conceal her concern in her voice.

"I don't think I can remember," Santana replied with an attempt at a smile. She moved to stand beside the blonde, her arms at her sides, staring up at the great, white snowfield as though it would help her to gauge Brittany's troubled mood. Brittany slowly let her eyes follow the shorter woman's.

"Santana" she said after a moment. "If I ask you something, will you answer me honestly?"

"Of course," she answered at once. "What is it?"

Brittany took her eyes from the snow to watch the Latina's face. "Are we going to die here?"

She saw Santana's jaw clench, as though she were biting down on an unwelcome answer. In the next instant, she had turned and pulled the blonde to her in a tight embrace, fervently whispering in her ear. "Nothing is going to happen to you, Britt, I swear. If I thought I was going to lose you I—"

"Don't," Brittany interrupted, pressing trembling fingers against the Latina's full mouth. "Don't. I shouldn't have asked. It's just—when I try to think about the future…" She trailed off, unable to finish that thought. She started to drop her hand back to her side, but the Latina captured it and brought it back to her mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the center of Brittany's palm.

"There's only one thing you need to know," she murmured, staring intently into Brittany's ocean blue eyes. "I love you."

Brittany felt her heart explode within her. She had given up her past, could see no future. The only thing she had was this.

"I love you," she whispered back ardently. "I will _always_ love you."

"I thought you were going to rest."

Startled, Santana spun around, her arms dropping to her sides. "Miss Pierce!" she exclaimed.

Brittany looked past the brunette to where Brittney stood in the snow. Brittney's eyes looked back. They were strangely blank. Brittany couldn't read the expression in them.

"I thought that you were going back to the train to rest," she said again, her eyes softening as they left Brittany to look at Santana. "I heard you promise Noah Puckerman."

Santana swept a hand across her face, in weariness or embarrassment, Brittany didn't know which. "You're right," Santana said. "I did. Thank you for coming to my defense this morning," she added sincerely.

Brittney blushed crimson. "You're welcome," she said quietly, looking away bashfully. All of a sudden, she seemed to remember what she had come for. "Mrs. Jones sent me with a fresh pillowcase for you," she went on, lifting the piece of bedding she held in her hands. "If you tell me which berth is yours, I'll put it on for you."

"I'm next to the women's washroom on the Similkameen," Santana answered automatically. "Lower berth on the right as you walk down the car. You can tell which one is mine because the upper berth isn't made up."

"But what am I thinking?" Santana asked suddenly, passing a hand across her face once more. "I couldn't impose on you like that, Miss Pierce. If you'll give me the case, I'll do it myself, but I hope you will give Mrs. Jones my thanks for her thoughtfulness."

Brittney stepped forward and handed Santana the pillowcase, but Brittany was sure that she could see her reluctance. _She wants to do something for her_, Brittany realized. _Anything to stake her claim._ "I'll do that," Brittney promised, smiling warmly at the tired Latina.

"I'll go in, then," Santana said. "It's cold out here. Don't stay out too long."

She moved swiftly along the path to the train and climbed aboard. Brittany was left alone with Brittney. An awkward silence stretched between them, as vast as the snowfield. Brittany had no idea how to reach across it. They had started out so close together, but each day that had trapped them on the train had driven them farther and farther apart.

"Brittney."

With a fierce gesture of one hand, Brittney cut her off. The expression in her pale eyes was easy to read now, Brittany thought. Pain. Anger.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," Brittney snapped in a hard, choked voice. "What you think you feel for Santana. It's not important. I only care about one thing."

"What's that?" Brittany asked.

Brittney gave a bark of laughter. The bitterness of it stole Brittany's breath. "You're so clever—don't you know?"

"Brittney," Brittany pleaded. "Please, it doesn't have to be this way. I never meant to hurt you—for any of this to happen."

"But you're not sorry now that it has, are you?" Brittany challenged. "I may not be outgoing, the way you are, but that doesn't make me blind or stupid. I see what Santana feels for you. But she's a good person, Britt. She deserves better than what you're giving her. She deserves to know the truth."

Brittany felt a heaviness in her chest, as if a great stone had come to rest upon her heart. "I know she does," she answered quietly.

"Well, when were you thinking of telling her?" Brittney asked sarcastically. "When the two of you are standing at the altar? 'Oh, by the way, dear, I hope you won't mind if I trade places with Miss Pierce.' "

"Stop it!" Brittany said sharply, finally goaded. "This is as difficult for me as it is for you. It's not fair to blame me, Brittney, and you know it."

"I don't know what's fair anymore," Brittney cried. "All I know is that you're taking her away from me. You're breaking your promise. How is this going to work out all right, Britt? _How?_ Can you tell me that?

Brittany was silent.

"I didn't think so," Brittney said derisively. "So I will tell you my plan, Miss Brittany Pierce. If you haven't told Santana the truth by tomorrow morning, then I will."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked back toward the hotel, leaving Brittany staring after her.

* * *

><p>Late that night, Brittany lay in her bunk, gazing up into the darkness. All around her, she could hear the sounds of her fellow passengers. The snores of the men. From time to time, the whimpering of children. She could hear Brittney breathing deeply and evenly just below her. But Brittany didn't think she would ever get to sleep. Her thoughts moved in the same spiral, over and over.<p>

She hadn't told Santana.

As much as she had agreed with Brittney that the Latina deserved the truth, in the end, Brittany hadn't been able to bring herself to do it. She had been unable to face the look in Santana's warm brown eyes when the brunette discovered who she really was. Unable to face a future without her.

Restlessly, Brittany rolled over onto one side, her eyes fixed on the motionless green curtain. Even with her back to it, it seemed to her that she could feel the vast expanse of the snowfield, rising in silent menace up the mountainside behind her. Instinctively, her fingers reached for the comfort of her mother's ring, and then clenched in frustration as she realized Brittney still wore it.

Soon she would wear another ring. Santana's ring.

And Brittany would have nothing.

She shifted positions again, pressing her face against her pillow to keep from crying her frustration, her desire, aloud.

_If only I could have some token._

Some part of Santana that would belong to her—to them—alone. Something that no one could ever take from her. One memory that would burn in her heart for all the empty years to come, brightly enough to warm her for a lifetime.

Brittany threw back the covers, unable to lie still any longer. She knew what she was going to do now, the most impulsive act of her entire life. She was going to go to her. Even if Santana refused the thing she offered, she would know that she had acted according to her heart.

The wooden floor of the Winnipeg was icy against Brittany's bare feet, the connecting passage between the two sleeping cars so cold it stole her breath away.

Then, finally, Brittany was standing on the Similkameen beside Santana's berth. She took one moment to steady the roaring of her heart, and then eased the curtain open.

Tired as she was, the movement roused Santana immediately. In the dim light, Brittany could just make out her outline as she rose up to one elbow. Brittany could see her eyes glittering in the dark.

"Britt?" she heard the Latina whisper incredulously.

In answer, she stepped forward, leaning down to place one palm over Santana's heart. As she felt the frantic scramble of it, Brittany knew that Santana's need matched her own. Knew that the brunette understood the thing that had driven Brittany to find her.

"Britt…" Santana sighed her name out, no more than a breath of sound. Then Brittany felt one strong, sure hand clasp her own, easing her down until they lay heart to heart, while the other pulled the curtain closed, shutting out the world around them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Before anyone asks, yes, if the berth is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin' hehehe ;) For those of you who read my previous story, the reasons for no explicit sex scene are still the same. I do not have confidence in my ability to write such a scene in a believable, enjoyable way, so I'm going to leave it up to your imaginations, okay? I'm sure you guys can figure something out... ;)**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I will be back with the next, as always, in the not-too-distant future! :D**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Hey, guys!  
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**Phew, okay, I'm sorry that I took so long to respond to the reviewers...I totally suck sometimes. But at least I did it before I posted this chapter! That's good...right? :) Ahem. Moving on.  
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**The 'anonymous' reviewer:  
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**_Last White Feather_ - I am so glad that you are on both of their sides in some way! That's what I wanted. Even if it kind of sucks to be conflicted, I'm really glad you don't just outright hate Brittney. Because...I mean, like you said, they _did_ have a deal and everything, but Brittany's broken that pact (not that she could help falling in love with her soul mate, even though she tried not to). So...yeah. I hope you like this chapter! :D  
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**Okay, so, hold on to your britches, ladies (and gentlemen?)! You're in for a bumpy ride. Enjoy! :D**

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><p><em>The Railyard at Wellington<em>

_February 28, 1910_

"Where were you this morning?"

Brittany was standing on the porch of Jones' Hotel, watching the rain come down. She had been waiting for something to happen all morning. Brittney had given her until today to tell Santana the truth. Sooner or later, she was bound to seek the taller blonde out to discover whether or not she had done it.

Brittany had awakened that morning to the sound of rain on the train car roof, and the warmth of Santana's arms around her. Overnight, the weather had changed. The sky was no longer white with snow. Instead, it was filled with enormous, fat drops of rain, shimmering gray as an opal.

After helping to serve breakfast, Brittany had come out onto the hotel porch to watch the rain, listening to it hiss as it struck the snow, the strange booming cracks of sound that echoed from time to time up and down the mountain.

No one seemed to know for sure what caused the sounds, but at breakfast, a word had run through the dining room like wildfire: _avalanche_.

That was the reason she was so jumpy, Brittany told herself. Not Brittney's sudden question. There was no way the other girl could have known where Brittany had spent the night. When Brittany had returned to their berth, it had been early in the morning. No one on the cars was stirring, not even the porters. Brittney had been lying perfectly still. Or so she had thought.

"I don't know what you mean," Brittany said cautiously. "I've been here all morning just like you have, helping Mrs. Jones."

Brittney stepped up to stand beside her. Shoulder to shoulder, the two girls stood, staring out into the rain.

"I woke up very early this morning," Brittney began, as though she were telling a bedtime story. Brittany stiffened, knowing what was to come next. "Before it was light. Maybe it was the sound of the rain. Or maybe I was having a nightmare. Whatever it was, I woke up frightened. I went to the washroom to splash some water on my face. I thought I had been careful to keep the curtain closed, so I wouldn't disturb you, but I guess I hadn't. When I got back, the curtain was open."

For the first time, Brittney turned to look at Brittany directly. Almost against her will, Brittany turned, compelled to meet Brittney's gaze. She had expected outrage, anger. Instead, she found the other girl's eyes were filled with immeasurable pain. As if she already knew the answer Brittany would give, but had had no choice but to pose the question.

"I could see that you weren't in your bed," Brittney continued, her voice still low and quiet. "Where did you go, Britt? Where were you this morning?"

A thousand images seemed to rush through Brittany's tired mind, a thousand explanations, a thousand choices. Until finally, just as there had been last night, she knew that there was only one choice that she could make.

"I was with Santana," she answered softly.

Brittney gave a cry of anguish. Unable to bear the pain in her friend's eyes another moment, Brittany turned away. She felt Brittney's fingers dig into her shoulders as she reached to pull her back.

"Don't do that," Brittney panted. "Don't think I'm going to let you turn away. You didn't tell her, did you? No, instead, you made sure that you could keep her for yourself. You knew that was the only way."

"No," Brittany protested. She genuinely hadn't thought of her action in this way. She had thought only of her need to be with Santana. Her need to create something, some memory she could treasure always, through the long and empty years ahead. "It wasn't like that, Brittney."

Brittney began to laugh wildly. "I don't believe you," she cried. "You deliberately betrayed her. You deliberately betrayed me. You made sure that she had to choose you no matter who you are. You've won. Congratulations."

"What do you mean no matter who she is?" said a voice behind them.

Startled, both girls swung around to face the entrance to the hotel. _No_, Brittany thought, as she stared into Santana's horrified brown eyes. _Oh, please, God, no. Not like this._

"What—do—you—mean—no—matter—who—she—is?" Santana asked again, her words carefully spaced out, empty of emotion. But the expression in her eyes was so blinding that Brittany had to look away. "You aren't Brittney Bennett, are you?" she inquired, as if the fact that Brittany couldn't look at her had already given her the answer. "You're Brittany Pierce."

"Santana, please," Brittany pleaded. "You must believe me, I didn't mean for this to happen. I never meant to hurt either one of you."

"I'm not interested in an explanation," Santana said, her voice as still as death. "I'm interested in the truth. _Are you Brittney Bennett or Brittany Pierce?_"

Brittany felt her throat close up instantly. She never knew how she forced the words out, the words she knew would drive the Latina from her side forever. Her own name.

"Brittany Pierce."

For a fraction of an instant, Santana closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Brittany cried out. The fire in them was completely gone. All that was left was cold, gray ashes.

"It was all a lie, wasn't it?" the brunette ground out, as though she were fighting the impulse to cry.

"No, Santana," Brittany objected, taking a step forward, and felt a razor-sharp pain shoot straight through her heart when the Latina stepped back. "It wasn't a lie, not how I felt, only who I was."

Santana gave a bark of cold, harsh laughter. "Only who you were," she repeated. "And you thought that was unimportant?"

"Of course not," Brittany protested, desperate for the shorter woman to understand. "I—we—" Her voice faltered and broke off, unsure how to defend her actions.

"I wanted to know what you were like," Brittney spoke up suddenly, "before we could be married. My father was—not a—kind person. I wanted to make certain that you weren't like him, if I could."

"Not a kind person," Santana echoed. She gave another short bark of bitter laughter. "But perhaps neither am I, Miss Bennett. A kind person would have told you the truth from the very beginning."

Brittany felt Brittney go stone still.

"What truth?" Brittney asked, a noticeable quiver in her soft voice.

"It was such a romantic story, wasn't it?" Santana said scornfully by way of answer.

Abruptly, Brittany became aware that she was holding her breath. _Is this how Santana had felt a few short moments ago?_ she wondered. _As if the world was suddenly descending straight down into chaos._

"The young woman so eager to meet her fiancé that she boarded the train in the middle of the night rather than wait for her to come to her in Seattle—"

Santana's dark eyes flicked to Brittany for a fraction of a second. "But romantic stories are seldom the truth," she said with a small, derisive smile.

"What is the truth, Santana?" Brittany couldn't help asking, feeling her heart clench painfully when Santana's gaze moved back to Brittney.

"I got on the train to tell Miss Bennett that I could not marry her."

Brittney flinched as if she had been struck, and staggered back. Acting solely on instinct, Brittany moved to support her. But Brittney jerked her arm out of the taller blonde's grasp. In the silence that followed, Brittany could hear the sound of the rain, pounding like fists on the roof of the porch.

"But why?" Brittney finally inquired. Santana took a step toward her. Brittany clenched her fists at her side. She had stepped toward Brittney. But _from her,_ Santana had stepped back.

"My father wished me to promise to marry you," Santana began. "He wished to use our marriage to settle a debt he said he owed your father. But I could not agree to that. Marriage should be more than a business contract, Miss Bennett. It should be, as the ceremony says, a promise to love, honor, and protect."

"But you—you said nothing!" Brittney exclaimed.

"Our engagement became common knowledge before I could speak," Santana replied. "And then—" She broke off, a noticeable blush rising on her tan cheeks.

"Then you met Britt and realized that you loved her," Brittney filled in slowly. "There would have been no need to speak after that."

When Santana said nothing, Brittney suddenly began to laugh. The sound was high-pitched, almost hysterical.

"How miraculous it must have seemed!" Brittney cried. "To suddenly discover you loved the woman you had refused to marry. That's a romantic story, too, Miss Lopez. Too bad it wasn't the truth."

Brittany watched as the color in Santana's face deepened. "I did you a disservice, Miss Bennett," she said, taking another small step toward Brittney. "I'm truly sorry for it. If you let me, I will make amends."

_No!_ Brittany's heart cried out, even as she felt it spasm in her breast. Santana could only mean one thing. Before she could stop herself, she took a step forward, extending one hand toward the Latina that held her heart.

"Don't," Santana spat immediately. "I don't want you to touch me, Britt. Not _ever_ _again_." Brittany clamped her eyes shut against the pain as she felt Santana's words turn her heart to solid ice. She halted, her arm still outstretched.

In a blur of motion, Santana actually knelt on the porch before Brittney. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, Miss Bennett?"

Brittney looked down, her expression unreadable. "Yes, I will, Miss Lopez," she answered at last.

As though Brittney's answer had freed her from some spell, Brittany dropped her hand. She knew it rested against her leg. She could even see her fingers curl to grasp the dark fabric of her heavy skirt. But she couldn't feel the ache of her muscles clenching till her knuckles shone white.

She couldn't feel anything, would never feel anything, not ever again.

"We can be married as soon as we reach Seattle," Santana said, rising to take Brittney's hand.

Brittany turned away, no longer able to bear the sight of Santana and Brittney together. She stared out over the snow, lumpy and pock-marked by the falling rain. A huge _crack_ thundered through the valley.

"But first, I have to make the hike to Scenic," she heard Santana continue. "Mrs. Jones is almost out of supplies, and I need to see if I can arrange for more."

"But is that safe, Santana?" Brittney asked anxiously, gazing worriedly at her fiancé.

_How quick she is to voice her fears for her,_ Brittany thought bitterly. _Almost as if they are married already._

"It will be all right," Santana reassured her, reaching up to stroke Brittney's pale cheek softly with the pad of her thumb. "But before I go—I—there is some—business—I must finish with Miss Pierce."

"Do you want me to go inside?" Brittney asked.

There was a beat of silence.

"You are going to be my wife," Santana answered slowly, lowering her hand from Brittney's face. "There should be no secrets between us, although I fear that you may not like what you will hear."

"I already know about last night," Brittney told her.

Brittany felt something sharp and ugly twist inside her. _So this is what betrayal feels like_, she thought.

"Miss Pierce."

Santana's voice sliced through Brittany's bitter consciousness. Slowly, she turned to the face the Latina, trying to focus just on her and not on Brittney at all.

For what she was sure would be the last time, Brittany felt Santana's eyes upon her. Now they were no longer full of the spirit and passion she loved so much in the other woman. No, now they were so dull and bleak it made her own eyes water. And so cold, even the memory of the warmth was gone.

"What we did…you took something away from me—something I was saving for the woman I would spend the rest of my life with."

"Don't," Brittany whispered, tears stinging the back of her throat. "Please, don't."

"You came to me, knowing exactly what it meant, knowing that you had no right take what you did. And the _entire time_ you were lying to me, making me believe that you...It—it meant _nothing_ to you—you just had to make sure you had some part of me forever, whether it was yours to have or not," Santana said, her eyes echoing the contempt in her otherwise emotionless voice.

"No, Santana, it wasn't like that," Brittany managed to squeeze past the lump in her throat, wanting desperately to explain herself to the Latina, make her understand that what they shared the previous night meant everything in the world to her.

"Well, congratulations," Santana continued, as though she hadn't heard Brittany speak, the pain just barely noticeable in her frigid tone. "I will _never_ get that part of myself back from you, no matter how much I may want to. But that's all you will ever get from me. I never want to see or hear from you again, Miss Pierce. I can't—"

Abruptly, she broke off, her lips pressed tightly together, her dark eyes glossy with unshed tears. Without warning, Santana brushed between the two blondes, stepping down off the porch and striding off into the driving rain.

_It's over_, Brittany thought. _All, all over._ She felt exhausted, drained. She turned to Brittney, standing silently beside her on the porch.

"It seems that you are the one to be congratulated. I'm sure you will be very happy."

"But not Santana," Brittney answered sharply. "Not without you—is that what you mean?"

Brittany bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood. Things were bad enough. She would not add to them by further quarreling.

"I won't stay on the Winnipeg," Brittany went on when she could trust herself to speak. "I don't expect that you will want to bunk with me anymore. I will move to the Similkameen."

"You know where there's an empty berth," Brittney answered sourly. Then she raised her hand in a swift gesture, as if to call her harsh words back. "Well, at least we were right about one thing."

"What was that?" Brittany asked, unable to hide her curiosity, even now.

"We were right about the kind of person Santana Lopez is. She is good and honorable. So honorable that she is willing to live without love."

Without another word, Brittney turned and went back into the hotel. Brittany didn't follow her. Instead, she walked slowly down the steps and out onto the snow, lifting her tear-stained face to the bitter rain.

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><p>All that day and into the night, it rained. Huge, fat drops falling from the sky like a torrent of tears, pelting down upon the trains and the buildings, soaking into the dense-packed snowfields, turning the sky no longer white, but a strange and opalescent gray.<p>

Toward the middle of the night, as February faded away and March roared in like a lion, the thunder and lightning began. Great claps of sound hurled themselves from one side of the canyon to the other. Silver forces of lightning seared the sky. Illuminated by their light, the great, white snowfield seemed to hold its breath.

Then, in the beat of stillness that followed the thunder, there came a sound no one had ever heard before.

A sound like nothing anyone had ever imagined, not even in the depths of their most fevered nightmares. A wild beast's roar. A sound to end all other sounds on earth, to swallow them up, to drown them out, to crush them and destroy them.

The great, white snowfield above the trains was moving. The avalanche came down.

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><p>Brittany heard it first, a deafening roar filling the night, making any other sound impossible. Brittany's head shot up from her pillow. She twisted her neck from side to side, trying in vain to identify the sound's direction.<p>

And then the avalanche was upon her.

Brittany shrieked as she felt the Similkameen lift up, up, up, slamming her viciously against the top of the train, and then, with a force hard enough to break bone, crash her right back down again. Crying out in fear and pain, she tumbled over the side of her berth, her hands desperately scrambling for any kind of hold as the Pullman car began to spin around like a toy boat trapped in a whirlpool.

Brittany's ears were filled with an assault of sound. The sound of glass shattering as snow forced its way through the windows, the scrape of rocks and trees sliding along the sides of the car, the terrified screams of her fellow passengers. She saw a strange glow, like red hot stars, and realized the coal stove had tipped over.

A shape slid toward her along the floor. Instinctively, Brittany made a quick grab, astonished to discover it was Isaac Puckerman. With one arm, Brittany hugged the baby to her chest.

"Rachel!" she screamed out. _"Rachel!"_

"Britt!" she heard Rachel call back. "I've lost Isaac! Where are you?"

"Here!" Brittany called out. "Over here!"

Then the whole world exploded.

Brittany could feel herself hurtle straight up, flying through the air, as the Similkameen split open like a rip summer melon. For one incredible moment, she seemed to hang above the earth, clutching Isaac Puckerman in her arms, suspended in time and space. Then, with a speed so brutal it stole her breath, she began to plummet downward.

She felt a sudden, piercing cold, a shooting pain. Then she could see nothing. Hear nothing. Feel nothing.

_I'm going to die here_, she thought. Then she remembered nothing.

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><p><strong>AN: I should probably warn you guys that the next chapter will be the last. It will be extra long, though, and I hope it wraps up your questions and everything. Buuut, just wanted to give you guys a head's up, so you're not blindsided next time. :)**

**The stunning conclusion will be back in a week's time! So, until then, I bid you all adieu :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hello, readers!**

**Okay, first off, I'd like to say that I agree with everyone else that all the stupid changes to this site are ridiculous and annoying. That is all.  
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**Secondly, barring any unforeseen circumstances, yes, this is the last chapter. I know, it's sad, but we all knew this day would come sooner or later, right? :)  
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**Next, review responses, since I was lame again and didn't get to them beforehand (sorry, guys! But, I was working really hard on this chapter, so...that's a good excuse, right?...Right? c: ):  
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**_CrawlingBackToYou9 _- Haha, I'm glad you despise me in a good way! Much better than the alternative ;) Anyway, you'll find out what's the endgame in this chapter. Don't want to give away the ending, you know. ;) Thanks for the review and I hope you like this chapter!  
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**_Last White Feather_ - Thanks so much for the review, as always! I'm actually really glad your heart broke last chapter, because that means I'm doing my job right, hehe ;) Hopefully this chapter will make up for it :D I also wanted to thank you for reviewing, like, every chapter! I've loved each and every one of your comments! Maybe I'll 'see' you around sometime! ;)  
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_**RabbitSniper**_** - Thanks for the review! I'm so glad that you felt for everyone in the last chapter! The situation sucked all the way around...:/ But I hope you like this chapter! And, yeah, this is the final chapter. I don't know, do you think it needs an epilogue? :) Oh, and I'll respond to your message right after I post this chapter, K? Time got away from me this week again. :/ Oh! I also wanted to say how happy I am that you stopped being shy and started reviewing! Especially since you're a fellow history-buff! And, you already know I love your username, but I just have to say that your profile picture makes me crack up every. Single. Time. haha! Thanks again for all the reviews! :D  
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_**Ryoko05**_** - Haha, sorry! I have a specific plan for this story, and I've planned for it to stop here. At least I didn't end it last chapter...that probably would have gotten me some angry reviews...lol. I hope you like this chapter! :) And, I wanted to thank you, too, for your continuous reviewing. All of your comments were/are very much appreciated. :D**

**_Rtarara _- Omg, "Wrong member of the party!" "Cholera ninja" etc, etc. Pahahahahaa! Priceless :') You, my friend, are hilarious. I hope this chapter helps placate you somewhat! :) Thanks, also, for all of your reviews! They _always_ made me crack up like Humpty Dumpty :D  
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**_LadyLuck143_ - I'm glad that it was a good kind of painful! :) And you will find out what happens to everyone in this chapter! I hope you like it! :D I also wanted to say thanks for all your reviews! They were awesome and entertaining and very much appreciated! :)  
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_**pourwords**_** - Haha, I know, it was like a double whammy last chapter - first the heartbreaking stuff between Santana and Brittany (and Brittney) and then the avalanche. Well, I hope this chapter is satisfactory and answers questions and leaves you with warm and fuzzy feelings! ;)  
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**_inrepair_ - "oh my" indeed! Thanks for the review and I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D  
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**_wkgreen_ - Thanks for your review! I know, last chapter was just bad all the way around :/ But, this chapter kinda/sorta makes up for it. I hope you enjoy! And, you my friend, I believe, are the only who has reviewed nearly every chapter of _Impossible to Ignore_ AND this story! Your loyalty and continued patronage have not gone unnoticed. Thank you _so much_ for all your reviews! I love every one of them! :D  
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**_Anon_ - Holy crap, lol. One of the longest reviews I've ever gotten! Thanks so much! :) I'm so glad that you are liking the story so much so far, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint :) I'm also glad that you like the time period! I, too, love period stories (historical fiction is my favorite genre to read), and I think there needs to be many, many more Brittana ones out there ;) Oh! And thanks! I just get tired of Brittana always having to hide in stories set in the past - they do that enough in stories set in the modern day. Not that those stories don't do it fabulously! Just...I like to see stories where their feelings aren't questioned in _any_ time period. :) I'm so glad that it was suspenseful for you! I was really worried that it wouldn't be, especially since you knew from the description that she did make it away from Finn :) Oh, and hahaha! Yes, Brittany is definitely the better looking of the two, and yeah...Santana was hurt, and she tends to lash out when she's hurt. I think she didn't lash out at Brittney so much because she doesn't care about her. But, she loves Brittany, so her part in the masquerade was much more painful. And yeah, Brittney and self-dignity have never met lol. ;) Thanks for your review and I hope you like this last chapter! :D  
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**_alyssa_ - First of all, χαῖρε (that's Ancient Greek for "Greetings/Hello". You may swoon ;D Not going to lie; you may or may not have made my day by saying that my knowledge of Ancient Greek is hot lol. No one's ever said that before! So...thanks c: ). Secondly, omg, your review. Hahaha! HiLARious. :) I'm so glad you like this story, and that you didn't wait until it was completed to read it (I feel special). Also, you lucked out because you read this story on the day that I update, so you didn't have to wait long! :) I hope this chapter is worth all the sad! ;) Thanks so much for the review! :D Oh, and P.S. You also gain awesome points because you were the 88th reviewer, and everyone knows that 8 is the most awesome number out there, so thanks ;)  
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**_imjustagirl2004_ - I just wanted to say hi *waves* And to thank you in public for all your reviews and just general awesomeness that you exude 24/7 ;) Um...yeah, so, I love your reviews and always flail over them (just FYI, since I know you like to make me flail - I also just love the word 'flail'; it's fun ;D), so thanks for that ;) Ahem. So...enjoy this chapter! :D  
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**Alrighty then, with that out of the way, I shall thank every person who has alerted and/or favorited this story, and everyone who has left a review! And thanks to those of you who simply read this story! Can't forget you! All of you guys are awesome! :D  
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**Without further delay, the final chapter. Enjoy! :)**

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><p>Brittany came to her sense slowly, opening first one eye, and then the other. But even with her eyes open, the world refused to make sense.<p>

_Why is it so cold?_ she wondered. _Rebecca hates it when it's cold…_

_But you left Rebecca,_ her mind answered. _You left Finn._

_Oh, yes, that's right,_ she thought. _I remember. I ran away. I went to the train depot. There was a girl on the train—and someone else—_

_Santana!_

With a sharp spear of pain, all of Brittany's senses came flooding back. She knew where she was now. She was lying, face down, in the aftermath of the avalanche, one arm pinned beneath her stomach, the other outflung. She could feel the fabric of her nightdress against her forehead. Her face lay in the crook of her outstretched arm. All around her, she could feel the cold, wet press of the snow.

_I'm not in the train anymore_, she realized. _I'm buried. Buried deep in the snow._ She was completely covered, although by some miracle she had been buried with an air pocket. She could breathe, but she wasn't sure yet that she could move. She could feel a great weight pressing down against her back.

_Isaac,_ she thought suddenly, panic seeping into her immediately. _Where is Isaac Puckerman?_

Brittany tried to move, and then screamed in agony as searing pain shot from her back straight down both legs. She had no idea what held her down, but she was very much afraid that it would hold her there forever. The only thing she could move were the fingers of her outstretched hand. Everything else was useless, motionless, pinned down by some enormous weight.

Brittany stared at her fingers, wriggling uselessly. Her skin looked pinched and bloodless, almost as white as the snow. The cold was so immense that it shut out every other sensation but pain.

_How long?_ Brittany wondered despondently. How long could she survive like this, with nothing between her and the snow?

And where was the Puckermans' baby? Had he slipped from Brittany's grip on impact?

"Isaac," she whispered, willing herself to stay strong, not to cry. Brittany held her breath, listening for anything that might give her a clue where the infant boy was. Gradually, from the hollow just below her stomach, Brittany became aware of a tiny thread of sound: Isaac Puckerman's breathing.

_I've got to reach him,_ Brittany thought frantically. _Got to keep him warm._ She tried to move the arm pinned beneath her, but it was no use. She couldn't feel it anymore. Hot tears scalded Brittany's freezing cheeks as she realized the truth. Isaac Puckerman was right beneath her, but Brittany couldn't reach him. She could offer him no shelter, no protecting warmth. Isaac's life depended on Brittany now, and she could do nothing to save it. Just as she could do nothing to save her own.

All she could do was to pray. Pray that she and Isaac weren't the only ones left alive on earth. Pray that somewhere, someone was mounting a rescue, that they would get to them in time.

"It's all right. I'm here, Isaac," Brittany said softly. "Shall I sing you a lullaby? I'll sing you a lullaby," she babbled. "Hush little baby, don't say a word…"

Over and over, Brittany sang the same song. She never knew how long. She sang till her voice gave out and only her lips kept moving. Till the only sounds in her coffin of snow were her own heart beat and Isaac Puckerman's whispery rasps.

In and out. In and out, Brittany forced air into her own aching lungs, as if every breath she took somehow gave Isaac breath. With every inhalation, Brittany felt the weight against her back, pressing her down into the snow. With every exhalation, she felt the cold penetrate deeper and deeper into her tired body.

Until finally, she was so cold she couldn't feel anything at all, not even the pain, and the only thing she could hear was her own breathing.

_He's gone. They're all gone,_ she thought, the last of her hope dwindling to nothing. _Isaac. Santana. Brittney._ Praying hadn't done any good. No one had come to save her.

And so, when the miracle did finally occur, Brittany almost didn't recognize it, she had been so certain that it would never happen. She heard a strange sound, the ring of metal shovels against the snow.

"I think we're just about done with this spot, boys," she heard a voice say.

"No, I'm here," Brittany murmured, a tiny spark of warmth, the will to live, suddenly flaring to life within her. She tried to lift her head. Pain shot like a hot poker down her back. Brittany cried out.

"Wait a minute," a second voice said. "I thought I heard something. Is anybody there? Can anybody hear my voice?"

"I'm here," Brittany called back, her voice stronger this time. "I'm here! Help me!"

"My God, there is someone," the first voice agreed. "Be careful, now. Don't dig too deep too fast."

Brittany heard the ring of shovels all around her. A moment later, she felt cold, fresh air upon the back of her head.

"It's a woman," she heard the voice exclaim. "It looks like Miss Bennett. Where's Santana Lopez? Somebody tell her I think we've found her fiancé."

"Santana," Brittany mumbled. Then she tumbled into darkness.

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><p><em>The Railyard at Wellington<em>

_Early March 1910_

She was freezing. She was burning. She didn't know where she was, or where she had been. The surface of Brittany's skin felt scorched with fever. But inside, she was as cold as the snow and ice she had been so sure would be her grave. So cold she feared that she could never be warm again.

She could feel hands upon her, barely make out the shapes of people around her, their voices low and soothing as they spoke her name.

"You must stay still, Miss Bennett," they told her, over and over. "Lie still. You have to rest."

"Isaac," she thought she had whispered. "Rachel. Brittney. Santana."

And then at last one shape had detached itself from the others, one outline that was clearer than the rest.

"It's all right, I'm here, Britt."

"Santana," Brittany said again. She reached up, to where the figure stood above the bed. "You have to find Santana and ask her something for me."

"What is it?" the figure said. But Brittany's strength was failing, her vision growing dim. "What is it?" the figure repeated softly, leaning closer, until its form blocked out everything else.

From the depths of her freezing heart, Brittany summoned her last ounce of strength. "Ask her to forgive me," she whispered.

* * *

><p>The next time she awoke, Santana was sitting by the side of her bed.<p>

The Latina was asleep in a wooden chair the exact match for the ones in the dining room at the Jones' Hotel, her head dropped forward onto her chest. At Santana's side was a table with a pitcher of water and one of Mrs. Jones' green plants.

_Is this real or am I still delirious, imagining things?_ Brittany wondered.

"Santana?" she whispered cautiously, not wanting to wake the other woman, but desperate to know what happened.

At once, Santana's eyes opened, their deep brown turning toward the bed. For a silence Brittany had no way to measure, they stared at one another. Brittany couldn't tell what the Latina was feeling. The dead, flat expression was gone from her eyes, but in its place was something she had never seen before, something she didn't understand.

"I'm thirsty," she murmured.

Without hesitation Santana rose and poured her a glass of water. "You've had a fever," she answered. "You have been delirious for more than a week." She moved to the bed, helped prop the blonde up so that she could drink, and then handed her the glass and stepped back.

_She doesn't want to touch me,_ Brittany thought dejectedly. _Not any more than she has to._ Brittany couldn't blame her. The last time they had touched had meant betrayal for them both. She drank the water in slow sips, grateful for its cool slide down her parched throat.

"It's a miracle that you're alive at all," Santana continued as she sat down again. "You were buried in the snow for nearly thirteen hours with one of the biggest tree trunks I have ever seen pressed against your back. Why your back and legs aren't broken, I will never know."

The glass wobbled in Brittany's grasp as memory poured through her. With an unsteady breath, she looked over to the Latina. "Isaac…?"

Her eyes filled with sympathy, Santana shook her head. "The rest of the Puckermans are alive, though. Noah's collarbone is broken. Rachel has a big gash on her forehead, but Abby came through without a scratch. They have gone on to Seattle, but Rachel asked me to tell you she hoped that they would see you there, and that…she knew you had done your best."

Brittany closed her eyes against the tears that rose and threatened to spill over. How could Rachel be so compassionate, so forgiving?

"I couldn't get to him," she whispered, opening her eyes. "All I could do was wiggle my fingers. I couldn't move my arms or legs."

"Nobody could have expected you to do anything more, Britt," Santana said, sincerity evident in her quiet tone.

"But, if he had been with Rachel—" Brittany began. Without warning, a familiar head poked in through the curtained doorway.

"Oh, so she's awake at last," Mrs. Jones said. "I'll tell the doctor. He will be so pleased. Now you concentrate on getting your strength back, young lady."

From somewhere, Brittany gathered the strength to smile. "You just want some help in the kitchen."

"There now," Mrs. Jones pounced, as if Brittany had just helped her win an argument. "What did I tell you? Soon, she'll be just as healthy as that plant," she smiled. Her dark head disappeared, and Brittany could hear the sound of her brisk footsteps.

"Damn!"

Brittany's jaw dropped open. She stared at Santana. She had never heard the Latina swear, not even in the heat of her anger over the blonde's deception. "I thought you liked Mrs. Jones," Brittany said, baffled by the outburst.

"I do," Santana answered. "But once she tells the doctor you're awake—" The brunette regarded her in silence for a moment, as though she were gauging the blonde's strength. "There's something else you need to know, Britt. I was going to wait to tell you, but I'm afraid Mrs. Jones has forced my hand."

Realization swept over Brittany. "It's about Brittney, isn't it?" she said in a low voice. When Santana didn't answer, she knew the truth, forced herself to say the words aloud. "She's dead."

"None of the other passengers on the Winnipeg made it," Santana said softly. "I don't know how you did."

So this was what had saved her, Brittany thought wryly. One small twist of fate.

"I wasn't on the Winnipeg," she confessed. "After you left, Brittney and I decided that we couldn't bunk together anymore. I moved to the Similkameen." She fell silent, unwilling to tell the Latina that she had slept in the berth they had shared. "I—"

"Finn Hudson is here," Santana interrupted.

The glass slipped from Brittany's fingers as she jerked upright. Water splashed across the bed.

"You mustn't let him see me," she said urgently. The glass crashed to the floor beside the bed.

"But—" Santana started.

"Santana, please, listen to me," Brittany pleaded. What could she do to make the brunette understand?

"I know you no longer—care for me—" her voice stumbled, but she forced herself to go on. "But, _please,_ I beg of you, don't tell Finn Hudson that I'm here. I can't go back to Spokane. If all you're going to do is turn me over to him, then you should have just left me to die in the snow."

Heedless of the broken glass upon the floor, Santana moved to the side of the bed. Her fingers reached for Brittany's chin, holding her head perfectly still. For one long moment, Santana looked into her eyes.

"You're serious, aren't you?"

"Dead serious," Brittany replied. "Even if you hate me, don't tell him that I'm here. Please, Santana, I beg—"

"Well, get in there and ask Lopez when I _can_ see her!" a voice just outside the doorway bellowed. "I can't stay here forever. I'm a busy man."

Brittany jerked her head out of Santana's grasp. She had to get away, any way she could. Desperately, her hands fumbled for the covers.

"Stay still, Britt," Santana ordered softly. Without another word, she turned toward the doorway. In two long strides she was through it, drawing the curtain shut behind her.

"What do you want, Hudson?" she barked, her voice more acidic than Brittany had ever heard before.

"The same thing I've wanted for the last week," Finn Hudson's angry voice snapped back. "I have questions concerning my stepsister. I think your fiancé may be able to answer them. I hear she's awake. All I want to do is talk to her, Lopez."

A wave of shock passed through Brittany. She pressed her hands to her mouth to keep her emotions at bay. All this time, Santana had been protecting her, and she hadn't known it. The Latina hadn't allowed Finn to see her, hadn't revealed the identity switch. Only Santana and Brittany knew the truth about the Brittany Pierce who lay buried under who knew how many feet of snow, knew that she was really Brittney Bennett. But Finn Hudson didn't know it.

Her stepbrother believed that she was dead!

"I have told you, Miss Bennett has nothing to tell you," Santana answered, her next words confirming Brittany's realization. "She's weak, recovering from an ordeal you can't begin to imagine. She cannot be disturbed. I will not allow it."

"But, my stepsister's belongings," Finn protested.

_He's talking about my mother's jewelry,_ Brittany realized suddenly. Finn and Rebecca must have searched her room, discovered what she had taken. She had no idea where her coat was, no doubt buried beneath the snow.

"You stepsister's _belongings?_ Santana's said incredulously. Brittany felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She had never heard Santana's voice sound like this, not even when she had faced down a roomful of angry passengers. "That's all that really matters to you, isn't it?" she asked.

"You don't care about finding her body. You don't care that the only way we had to identify Miss Pierce was by the ring on her right hand. Her _severed_ right hand, Mr. Hudson. That's all we have of your stepsister. All we may have till spring. I suggest you return to look for her _belongings_ then."

A wave of nausea flooded through Brittany. _Dear God,_ she thought, horrified. Brittney hadn't deserved such a fate. No one did. Brittany drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest.

"Your behavior is insulting," Finn blustered. "I intend to lodge a protest with Superintendent Figgins."

"Fine," Santana said promptly. "You do that. In the meantime, leave Miss Bennett alone, or I promise you that you'll regret it."

A moment later, Brittany heard the angry retreat of Finn's footsteps. Santana stepped back through the curtain and held it closed behind her. She pulled in a deep, slow breath. Slowly, Brittany slid her legs down and sat up as straight as she could, staring across the room at the Latina.

"Why did you protect me?" she whispered. "You don't even know my reasons."

"I don't need to know them," Santana snapped. "I have reasons of my own."

Brittany held her breath. Santana all but vibrated with tension. She was wound as tightly as a watch spring. But when the brunette spoke once more, her voice was low and controlled. Her dark eyes looked straight ahead, as if she were staring at the past.

"When I left here—that day—I thought I never wanted to see you again. I told myself that offering to marry Brittney was the right thing to do, the honorable thing to do, and that was why I had acted the way I had."

She paused and, in that moment, Brittany could see the deep lines of weariness etched around her eyes and mouth. _You don't have to do this,_ Brittany wanted to tell her. _You don't have to explain._ But she couldn't seem to force the words out.

Without warning, Santana's brown eyes turned to hers and Brittany felt a jolt. They were haunted, tortured. Had she done that?

"It wasn't true, Britt," Santana burst out, as if the spring inside her had suddenly given way, her voice trembling with emotion. "I wasn't trying to do the right thing. All I was doing was trying to hurt you—to pay you back. I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to feel the way I did—betrayed. Then we got word of the avalanche and I—"

She broke off, breathing hard, and turned away. Brittany watched her run a hand across her face, as though to scrub it clean of her unwholesome visions. Brittany was shocked to see that the Latina's hand was trembling.

"I thought that I'd go crazy. All I could think about was you. Seeing you again, holding you again. _I would have given anything to make that happen, Britt._

"I didn't give a damn about who you were; all I wanted was to have you back again. I don't know if I can ever forgive the choice you made—coming to me without telling me who you really were—but I think that, now, I can understand it. When I thought I'd lost you, I thought I'd lost everything—except my memories."

Brittany was still for a moment, listening to the steady beat of her own heart and to Santana's ragged breathing. She did understand, Brittany thought. Maybe better than she had herself. Her need to build a memory. As much as desire, that was the thing that had pulled her to the Latina that night. But if Santana couldn't forgive her, a memory would be all they would ever have.

Brittany never knew how she found the courage to speak. "What happens now?" she asked.

Santana rand her hand across her face once more, and then turned to face her. Now Brittany saw that the brunette's eyes were dim and troubled, as if the fire in them had begun to smolder but hadn't yet found the way to burst to life.

"I honestly don't know," Santana admitted softly. "Part of me still wants to blame you, Britt. You lied to me. You hurt me, and I responded in a way that I'm not proud of. But if I had been honest from the start—if I had told the truth and said that I couldn't marry Brittney Bennett, things might have been different. You and I could have been free to love one another. My head knows that I have to let go of the past—but my heart—"

"It's still all around us, isn't it?" Brittany whispered. She thought of Brittney, lying cold and dead in the snow. Cold and dead in what could have been her place. Would Brittney's tomb house her own heart? Brittany wondered. Would she be doomed to live alone, without love, in atonement for Brittney's fate?

"Now that I know you will recover, I must leave for Seattle. I can't put it off any longer," Santana continued, he voice snapping Brittany from her thoughts. The Latina came to stand beside the bed. "Perhaps, all we need is time, Britt. Perhaps—"

Brittany reached for her hand, curving her pale fingers around Santana's tan ones. "What do you want to do?" she asked

The question burned in her throat, it sounded so unlike her. The old Brittany Pierce didn't ask. She made up her mind and then she acted. Without her impetuosity, she never would have met Santana Lopez, known her love.

Because of her impetuosity, Brittany might very well have lost her love forever.

_I've been no better than Finn is,_ Brittany realized suddenly. _Manipulating people, using them to satisfy my own ends._ The knowledge filled her with self-loathing. The fact that she hadn't intended to act in such a fashion hardly made a difference. How could she expect Santana to love her when she couldn't love herself?

Her fingers slipped from Santana's and fell back upon the bed. When Santana reached to capture them again, Brittany felt her heart stutter.

Perhaps the Latina wasn't ready to let her go. Not yet.

"This is what I think we should do," Santana answered slowly, gazing down at her joined hands, fingers laced together. "I'll hike out to Scenic and take the train back to Seattle. You stay here and recover your strength. When you're ready to travel, if you still…want me, wire me when you will arrive. If I want us to be together, I'll meet you at the train depot."

"And if you're not there?" Brittany couldn't help asking, although she dreaded the answer.

"Then you'll have my answer," Santana said. "Just as I will have yours if you never come to Seattle. We're even now, Britt. No more lies between us, no more secrets. Both of us must take the same chance."

The chance that, even as one of them moved forward, the other would step back. Brittany felt her heart accelerate with fear at just the thought. She had been impulsive all her life, but had she ever truly been brave? Was she brave enough to take this chance?

To show by her actions that she wanted Santana's love, before she could know if it was still returned?

_I am brave enough_, she thought resolutely. _I must be._

"All right, Santana," she said, squeezing the Latina's hand to convey her sincerity, that she wanted this.

A look of relief swept across Santana's face. "Thank you," she breathed out. For a moment, the brunette stood silent, as though, now that she had leave to go, she was uncertain how to do it. Finally, she raised Brittany's hand, still clasped in her own, and pressed it to her lips. Brittany felt the tears start, unbidden, in her eyes. She blinked frantically, desperately trying to hold them back.

She would not weep. Not when it felt so much like giving in to defeat before she had had the chance to prove that she could win.

"Rest well," Santana said softly, gazing intently into Brittany's ocean blue eyes. "I hope—"

Shaking her head, as if to stop herself from speaking any more, Santana broke off abruptly. Without another word, Santana released her hand and strode away from the bed. At the doorway, she slid the curtain back, stepped through it, and then slid it into place behind her. Not once did she look back. Brittany heard her quick footsteps walk away from her room and then fade away to nothingness.

Brittany sat in bed, staring at the bright green leaves of Mrs. Jones' plant. It looked so eager for life, so hopeful, and Brittany had never felt so hopeless.

How much of her heart had just vanished with Santana? she wondered. And how much of it would stay forever here in Wellington, buried in the cold among the dead?

* * *

><p><em>The Railyard at Wellington<em>

_Late March 1910_

"Are you ready to go, Britt?"

Several weeks later, Brittany stood once more on the porch of Jones' Hotel. This time, she was waiting to board the train that would take her on the final leg of the journey she had started so long ago, through the mountains to Seattle. She had been ready to travel for more than a week, but she had been forced to stay in the mountains until the tracks could be cleared from Scenic to Wellington.

Both places had been sites of desperate activity during the weeks of Brittany's recovery. Even though they had had to hike in on foot, rescue crews had poured from Scenic to Wellington. The passenger cars had been dug out first, and then below them, the mail cars, all still carrying their loads of human cargo.

It had seemed to Brittany that the sleds carrying the bodies from the wreckage to the makeshift morgue near the hotel would never stop. To keep herself occupied, she had helped Mrs. Jones in the kitchen once more, helping to feed the rescue crews. She had been glad to keep busy but, more often than not, her appearance proved awkward. Entire tables of men would fall silent at her approach. They knew she was one of the survivors, and they had all heard about her ordeal.

But it was from overhearing talk at the tables that Brittany learned the fate of the Fabrays. Some of the bodies pulled from the wreckage were mangled almost beyond recognition, but not them. They appeared virtually untouched, as though they had simply fallen asleep under a vast blanket of snow. Beth had been clasped tightly in her mother's arms. Quinn had protected her to the very last.

As was the case with all the others, their bodies were loaded onto enormous sleds and hauled out to Scenic, the closest place where the trains were still running.

It was from a compassionate Mrs. Jones that Brittany had learned Brittney's fate. She had been entwined with the twisted metal wreckage of the Winnipeg. Only the fact that one of her hands was severed at the wrist had made it possible to identify her. Her face had been crushed beyond recognition.

Brittany's secret was well and truly safe now. It could not be given away, not even by the dead.

In spite of Brittany's pleading, Mrs. Jones had refused to let her see the body. There was no point in Brittany torturing herself, she had said. Brittney was gone. Nothing Brittany could ever do would bring her back.

She had meant the words as comfort, Brittany knew, but instead she felt guilt settle over her, like a great, dark cloak. What had the woman said who had first come to congratulate Miss Lopez and Miss Bennett on their romantic engagement?

_The heart always knows its choice._

And because Brittany's heart had chosen Brittney's fiancé, and Santana's heart had chosen her, Brittany was alive and Brittney was dead. And because her friend was dead, Brittany could be free to leave her old life behind forever, if only she had courage enough to take the first step.

A step that felt much larger than the one that had taken her away from Finn and her life in Spokane. _I was running away then,_ Brittany thought. Now, she was running toward. A leap of faith which she must make without a safety net.

"Britt—" a quiet voice said.

Brittany started and turned. Then she gave a quick, self-conscious laugh. Mrs. Jones had been there the whole time, she realized suddenly. Had even spoken to her once before, but Brittany had been too lost in her own comfortless thoughts to answer her.

She pulled in a deep breath. Now that the time to leave Wellington had come, Brittany felt awkward and uncertain. Without Mrs. Jones' support, Brittany was sure she never would have made it through the dark days after Santana's departure.

She managed a smile, determined to show the older woman good spirits. "Ready as I'll ever be," she said.

Mrs. Jones was quiet for a moment, gazing out toward the tracks. The day was cold and clear. Sunlight sparkled like diamonds on the surface of the hard-packed snow.

"Did you wire Santana?" Mrs. Jones asked.

Brittany nodded, unable to trust herself to speak.

"I gave her a piece of my mind before she left, you know," the other woman said.

"You did _what?_" Brittany asked, astonished.

Mrs. Jones chuckled, as if Brittany's startled reaction was exactly what she had hoped for. "I gave her a piece of my mind," she said again. "I don't know what's gone wrong between you two, but it's nothing that can't be cured by a little forgiveness. That's what I told her—and what I'm telling you."

_But you can't know that for certain,_ Brittany thought to herself. Just as she couldn't know for certain that the Latina would be waiting for her at the other end.

"I'm not sure she can forgive me," she said aloud, sadness and fear obvious in her voice.

Mrs. Jones snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course she can," she said. "But she's got to forgive herself first, same as you've got to forgive yourself. All the rest will follow after that."

Brittany felt her heart twist. "You make it sound so simple."

Mrs. Jones turned to her, her expression ever so slightly surprised. "Well, I think it is," she answered. "But simple is not the same as easy."

"No, it isn't," Brittany agreed. She took a breath. She thought of Brittney, her body crushed, unrecognizable in the snow. "I—I'm not sure I can forgive myself."

Mrs. Jones' expression turned compassionate. "But I think you must, my dear," she said. "Otherwise, how will you go on?"

Brittany looked back out over the snow, telling herself that her eyes burned because the sunlight was so dazzling.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Suddenly, Mrs. Jones handed Brittany a basket. It was covered with a red and white checked cloth, bright and cheery. "I fixed a little something for you," the older woman said. "A person should never go on a journey empty handed. Besides, I wanted to thank you for all your help."

"It's I who should thank you," Brittany responded, grateful for the change of subject. "It helped to keep busy."

The other woman nodded, as though she understood. "It's a good feeling to be useful, isn't it?" she commented.

The train let out a long, high whistle.

"Oh, there you go. Better get on board," Mrs. Jones said. She reached out to give Brittany a warm embrace. "Good luck, Britt."

"And to you," Brittany said. She returned Mrs. Jones' embrace, and then tucked the basket more firmly into the crook of her arm and strode down the porch steps without looking back. The snow crunched and squeaked as Brittany walked across it. For the last time, she walked toward the tracks at Wellington, the plume of steam from the great black engine shooting like a white geyser into the cold, blue air.

Just before she boarded the train, she stopped and turned in a slow circle. High above where the train now sat, the avalanche had left a jagged scar upon the land, wide and deep, like the scar in Brittany's heart. Who knew how long it would take the land to heal?

_But I must be like the earth is,_ Brittany realized suddenly. She must be strong. She must be patient and relentless. She must commit herself to the future, not the past. Her dream of love had been born, and it had died in this place. But it could rise once more, reborn by the power of forgiveness.

She swung up into the train, settled into the day car, and set her basket at her feet. No sooner had she done so than she felt the train jerk forward. The future seemed to hurtle toward her as the train gathered speed. Brittany felt her heart lift and open.

There was pain there, pain for her own deception. Pain for the senseless loss of Brittney. Perhaps it would be there always. But pain was not enough to grow a future.

_Please,_ Brittany thought as she watched Wellington disappear forever. _Please, be there, Santana._

* * *

><p><em>Seattle, Washington<em>

_Late March 1910_

Brittany couldn't find her anywhere.

The blonde stood outside the depot in Seattle, her heart pounding in her throat, fingers laced together tightly. Only a supreme act of will was keeping her from wringing her hands. She had watched the other passengers disembark, be greeted by their loved ones and depart, despair growing in her heart moment by moment, until now she stood all alone beside the great black engine.

It was warmer in Seattle than it was in the mountains, but Brittany was cold, so cold she didn't think that she would ever be warm again. She had made her choice, sending the telegram that showed she wanted a future with Santana.

And, in her absence, Brittany had her answer. Santana didn't want her. Didn't want a life together.

She wasn't coming. Brittany couldn't find the Latina anywhere.

All of a sudden, Brittany simply couldn't stand it. _Go! Get moving!_ she urged herself. _You can't stand around all night at the train depot._

But her legs felt slow and clumsy inside their cocoon of petticoats and skirts. As if her body was unwilling to move toward the future, preferring to stay rooted in the past. No matter how painful it had been, in this moment Brittany was sure the pain of the past would be nothing compared to that of the future.

She wasn't coming. Brittany was going to have to learn to live without her.

"Excuse me, miss—"

At the sound of the voice behind her, Brittany turned to find the train conductor hurrying along beside the tracks. In one hand, he held the basket that Mrs. Jones had given Brittany.

"I think you may have left this behind, miss," the conductor said.

"I did—thank you for noticing," Brittany said. She had been in such a hurry to find Santana that she had forgotten all about Mrs. Jones' gift. She took the basket, settling it into the crook of one arm.

"Thank you," she said again, smiling at the conductor.

He touched one hand to the brim of his cap. "Think nothing of it, ma'am," he said as he walked past Brittany.

"Evening, miss," he greeted someone behind Brittany as he moved on toward the depot.

Brittany spun around, the basket flying out from her elbow as she swiftly turned. She heard a grunt as it connected.

"Whoa—be careful!" a voice exclaimed.

Brittany stopped dead. All she could do was stare into a pair of warm brown eyes she had been so sure she would never see again.

"Santana," she whispered. She swayed as her leg, so unwilling to move a moment before, now threatened to stop holding her up. Santana reached to hold her at once, her hands grasping both of Brittany's elbows in a tight, firm grip.

"I was delayed. I couldn't help it, Britt."

"I thought you weren't coming," Brittany replied. She wanted to call the words back the moment she said them. But she had been so cold, so terribly cold and alone and afraid.

Santana winced. "I know—I'm sorry—I—I'm not making a very good start of this, am I?" she said with a nervous chuckle.

_Do something,_ Brittany ordered herself. _You've come so far, had so many misunderstandings. Don't let one last one ruin things now._

"What's that?" Santana asked suddenly. Brittany followed her gaze to where Mrs. Jones' basket still dangled from the crook of one of her elbows.

"Mrs. Jones gave it to me, just before I left," she said. "Probably just food for the trip. I didn't even look—I wasn't hungry—"

"No," Santana interrupted, her expression intent. "No, I don't think so. Look, Britt."

Santana released one of her elbows to ease the checked cloth back. From the depths of the basket, Brittany could see glossy green leaves. Mrs. Jones had given her one of her plants, the one that had cheered her from the table by her sickbed.

Brittany felt her body begin to tingle. Felt the rush of her blood, just beneath the surface of her skin. Mrs. Jones had given her something strong and alive, yet that nevertheless must be tended carefully.

_Like my love for Santana, _Brittany thought as a smile slowly spread across her face. _Like the life we want to build together._

She looked up to find Santana watching her intently, her brown eyes burning with the thing Brittany had feared she had put out forever: a strong and steady flame. Brittany felt the ice around her heart melt and dissolve away as though it had never been there. She was warm once again.

"Britt—I—" Santana began, but Brittany placed gentle fingertips against the Latina's lips to silence her.

"I love you, Santana," she said, moving her hand to stroke the brunette's soft check with the pad of her thumb, her gaze never once leaving the shorter woman's. "My heart always knew that you would come—only my fear made me doubt. I'll never listen to it again."

Santana made a strangled sound and leaned forward a little to rest her forehead against the blonde's. "I was so afraid you wouldn't come," she confessed, her husky voice whisper-soft. "Ten times a day, I told myself I was a fool for leaving you. I don't want to live without you—not for one moment longer. Will you marry me, Britt?"

"Yes, I will," Brittany beamed, her heart full to bursting with joy.

Santana gave a great whoop and lifted the taller woman off her feet, spinning her until they were both breathless and laughing. Then the Latina set Brittany on her feet, took her porcelain face between her hands, and kissed her until the sounds of the depot dropped away and all Brittany could hear was the beat of Santana's heart and hers, together.

Hand in hand, they walked to the hansom cab that would take them to Santana's home, and her waiting parents. Safe in the cab, in the shelter of Santana's arms, Brittany touched the plant that Mrs. Jones had given her with gentle fingers.

The winter had been long and bitter, and Brittany knew she would never forget it. But now, in the blossoming of the love she shared with Santana, Brittany also knew that she would see the spring.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: ...and they lived happily ever after. So precious *wipes tear from eye* ;) **

**I hope you guys enjoyed this story and thanks for joining me along the journey! :D**

**Shameless plug: I have started another story (I'm posting the first chapter right after I post this one, just FYI. I don't know when it'll show up on the site, but that's when I'm posting it lol) entitled _Washed Ashore_, in case some of you might be interested. :D  
><strong>

**Thanks again for reading! Bye! :)  
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